


an indecisive relationship (with the truth)

by banhmi



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Climbing Class, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2018-12-16 07:51:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 52,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11824296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banhmi/pseuds/banhmi
Summary: Two weeks away from home, two unanswered messages, and two very big misunderstandings. Aren’t summer vacations supposed to be relaxing?(Not if you're Josh Washington, Relationship Extraordinaire)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey! welcome! this is a storyline that i've had on my mind for a while, and it also combines a few stray ideas that i've decided to jam into one place. if you're up for a bit of travel fic, two boys being infuriatingly clueless, and an all around cheese-fest... i think you're in the right place. hope you enjoy!

The first and last time Josh had gone to Banff had been more than twelve years ago, when his dad had first surprised the family with their very own mountain lodge and the whole goddamn mountain with it. He remembers the excitement that’d gone off in him, plumes of fireworks reaching out into his fingers and toes.

He doesn’t feel any of that now, even though he’d claimed the bottom bunk of the sleeper car and could lie on his stomach to stare out the window. The train sways along on the tracks as it passes by pine trees and mandibles of rock in the distance; spindles of fog lay strewn about the landscape like stretched cotton balls.

“Same,” he croaks, voice rough with drowsiness. He thinks of his brain, fluffy and pulled thin.

The top bunk creaks. Sam’s face appears and her hair tumbles around her shoulders.

They look at each other for a moment, faces obscure in the dimness of the car. Her eyes scan across his bed and settle on his phone and he freezes, waits.

The tightness in his stomach melts as she yawns and asks, “Wanna grab breakfast?”

“I’m down,” he says.

“Great. Let me just shower first and—”

“Oh. We’re planning for _tomorrow_ ,” he says, and a pillow lands on his head.

With Sam away for the next hour, he sits up and leans against the wall, alternating between biting the skin of his thumb, looking out the window, and glancing at the black screen of his phone. He tosses Sam’s pillow back to its proper place, arranges the toiletries she’d scattered on her bed into a pentagram, and pretends he’s the kind of character in a horror movie who sees a ghost in the window (he’d be that guy or the Complex Bad Boy who everyone thinks is in on the murders, is actually innocent, but now has to die because of his perceived ‘deceit’). He imagines a few different apparitions, staring hard into the glass and mixing the reflections of the foliage to create different shapes. When he locks eyes with himself, he decides to stop. And there’s his phone there, too, lurking behind him. He waits before slowly turning to pull it towards him.

When he taps it on and sees it there still, that (1) New Message on the notification screen, he lets the screen go blank and kicks the phone towards the blankets he’d shoved to the end of the bed. It veers at an angle and sails right off, clattering by the door. Not much of a soccer guy. Sure did wish he had a baseball bat right about now.

Sam returns at that moment, flip-flops squeaking under her feet. She looks down at the phone, up at Josh.

Josh looks down at the phone, avoids her gaze and turns to the window.

He hears a thump on the bed and the phone bumps against his thigh. The ladder creaks as Sam crawls up into her bunk.

“That’s been there for a while,” she says before she clicks her tongue and says _Josh, what did you do to my stuff!_

Josh nods, Sam’s dismay bringing a slight curve to his lips before he banishes it. “It sure has.”

There’s clicks and clattering as she rearranges her things. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you guys like this. Is...everything okay?”

“Peachy keen,” Josh mutters, emphasizing each syllable in the phrase. “Everything is pea-chee- _keen_.” Kind of like a trash fire with peaches thrown in it. A huge red trash fire on the beach, nothing there but sand and the endless ocean, and little melting peaches turning into goo.

“Okay,” Sam says, her voice soft and unassuming like an envelope on your desk waiting for a letter.  

His stomach churns, feeling thick and doughy, but he speaks through it. “Y’know how he gets sometimes.”

“Mmhm,” Sam hums, and he knows she’s got an elastic in her mouth judging by the sound of a hairbrush pulling through knots.

“All pissy when you don’t do what he wants and he thinks it’s the Right thing to do.”

“Doesn’t everybody get like that once in a while?” The elastic snaps against her fingers as she does up her hair.

“It’s okay, you can say ‘Josh.’”

She clicks her tongue.

“You’re not denying it.”

“Well, what makes this time different?”

“Because. He won’t. Drop it. Then he acts like he’s so much better for it, as if he wouldn't do the exact same thing in my position,” he says, his voice sharpening as he speaks. Softly, he adds, “Hypocrite.”

A minute or two hangs between them before Sam says, “He texted you, though. Maybe he’s apologizing?”

“Right. It probably says something like: ‘answer me you shit.’”

Silence.

“Okay, so that’s something I would write. Sue me.”

“Hm. I’m thinkin’ about it.”  

“Oh. S’there something you’re not telling me, Sammy?”

“Something like what?”

“Are you usin’ us? Are you a _gold digger_ , Sammy? Here to take away the Washington fortune?”

The pillow he’d so _nicely_ returned to her makes it way back to his face.

His voice is muffled when he says, “I mean, you are, in a way.” Then he removes the pillow.  

“How so?” Sam asks. There’s the stretch and pull of fabric and he sees her arm poke over the edge of her bed as it extends through a sleeve.

“You’ve got a third of it wrapped right around your little finger. Then again, you’ve got it bad for her, too.”

At the same time that she leans forward with a questioning look he peeks out at her, wiggling his eyebrows while grinning.

Her face goes red and he runs out of the car, dodging around an attendant to make his way to the restaurant. He’s surprised no one tries to stop the guy running down the hall and cackling his head off, and the fact that once he gets there they escort him inside the same way they would some rando in a sweater vest and pleated chinos. He doesn’t even have shoes on.

Josh looks over his shoulder at Sam, whose speed-walking capabilities cannot be dismissed, and sees why the universe allowed him such liberties. He slides into a chair and awaits her approach. She raises her eyebrows and also her right hand. Which is holding his phone. Dammit, universe.

She sits, slides it to him, and, as she unfolds a menu in front of her face, deftly reaches around and wakes up the phone.

(2) New Messages.

“What the fuck,” Josh says, garnering the looks of a few patrons sitting nearby.  

“Josh, seriously. You should reply.”

“Uh, correction, Sam. I’m under _no_ obligation to reply.”

“ _What_?” Sam says, letting the menu flop against the table. “Why?”

He lets out an exasperated laugh, looking at her in disbelief. “ _Because_.”

“Because…?”

“Sam, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re on vacation right now.”

Her eyes widen and she sits up straight. “Oh my gosh, are you serious? Really? _That’s_ your excuse?”

He shrugs and flags down a server, ignoring the two holes opening up in his face from the intensity of Sam’s stare.

Fifteen minutes later, two slices of French toast with ice cream and strawberries with a double order of bacon on the side slide onto the table, a monstrosity compared to Sam’s petite bowl of Greek yoghourt with honeyed oats and fruit. While she eyes him and stirs her yoghourt,  Josh crams ice cream into his mouth and endures the brain freeze, taming it with a small square of toast.

“Josh,” she says.

He gives Sam the OK symbol with his index and thumb and mumbles something that sounds vaguely like _delicious_.

She purses her lips. 

“Wanna try some?” he asks, folding a piece of bacon around another spoonful of ice cream and dipping it in maple syrup. He smiles at her disgust and the fact that she resigns herself to starting on her own meal. Her loss. It really does taste good. A little sweeter now, petty as that is.  

They eat in silence, gazing past each other’s faces out the windows. Well, that’s what he’s doing and he is having an _excellent_ time, thank you very much. Their utensils clink against ceramic, joining in a periodic chorus with the other dining patrons. Morning radiates from behind the growing mountains and threads through tufts of cloud, everything arranged over a sky gradating between pink and blue. As the train rumbles along, a few more people amble in for breakfast.

Sam mentions something about their time in Vancouver, but he doesn’t catch her exact words. Try as he might, he can’t understand anything she’s saying. Her words blend with the other conversations hovering around them, leaving him with unintelligible webs rather than sentences. His eyes lock on the phone between them, and all his senses thereafter disintegrate. Outside there’s a cotton candy sky and people here are laughing and there’s good food on the table, and here he is, Josh Washington, some pathetic schmuck who can’t answer a goddamn phone. He’s just that much of a coward, a good-for-nothing asshole.   

He grimaces.

The fog is dissipating; Josh feels it flowing into him and condensing along the lining of his stomach, solidifying into sludge as it rolls to the bottom. His skin becomes light and airy and seems to lift off a few millimetres from his body just a touch to the left and his fingers go numb and, and…

“...Josh?”

Josh unfolds from his caved shoulders, blinking. Sam is studying him, and though the tilt of her eyes makes his stomach hot, he clenches his jaw. Half-finished and half-melted, his French toast is crossing into 80s Horror Movie Slime Monster territory. His left hand is tangled in his hair and pushing against his forehead. He uses the heel of it to palm his eyes. Nobody’s looking. Good.

“We can go if you want,” Sam says.

“...Can we forget that just happened?”  

“Don’t worry about it. So?” She tilts her head towards the door.

Josh makes a noise of approval, rubbing his eyes again. “...Yeah. But let’s get rid of this first,” he says, picking up his fork and preparing to dig through the rest of his meal. Or at least make an attempt. 

“And let’s get you a pair of shoes?”

He kicks her lightly in the shin. “Yeah. That, too.”

*

Whether it’s luck that the panorama car is empty or it’s the universe sneering at him again, Josh doesn’t know. He flops into a seat in the centre of the car and checks his phone again.

(2) New Messages.

His arm slumps against the armrest. Sam pushes it into his lap as she sits beside him.

“You want the window seat?” he asks.

“In the panorama car?” Sam punctuates her statement by looking around, her eyes sweeping over the curved glass that domes over the top half of the car.

“Jesus,” Josh says, leaning against the window and letting it rattle his brain, “I’m falling apart here, Sam.”

“Maybe a little,” she says. “But the window does sound nice.”

They switch seats and Sam almost instantly presses to the glass.

“We’ll see it all anyway once we get to Banff,” Sam says, eyes shining as she takes in the view, “but it’s a different kind of _wow_ when you see it from a train, huh?”

“Yeah,” Josh says. “ _Wow_.”

Sam spares him a glance. “Do I sound like that?”

“Like a huge nerd? You do.”

“Everyone’s a huge nerd except for you, huh?”

Josh slouches in his seat as he looks out the window across the aisle. “Oh, don’t get me wrong; I’m _also_ a huge nerd. The good and respectable kind.”

“Are you going to elaborate on that?”

“I’m what you might call a film connoisseur.”

“... _Oh._ ”  

“Sam. Don’t kick a guy who’s already down. That’s mean.”

“Sorry, but them’s the breaks!” (She doesn’t look sorry at all).    

As they settle into their seats, an announcement warbles from the overhead speakers notifying everyone of the train’s passage from British Columbia into Alberta. It mentions a few waterfalls to look out for, this or that mountain range. Josh tries to listen, but his thoughts continue to drift away from him like dandelion seeds, aimless and ever so adept at evading capture.

By evening they should reach Jasper, and he can officially relax. There won’t be any wifi or signal or anything (there sure as hell better not be), and he doesn’t remember a time when he was quite so thankful for something like that.   

Anyway:  

“I can’t reply,” he says.

Sam shifts. “We’re not going back to the _because we’re on vacation_ excuse, are we?”

“I mean, he probably hates me by now.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“What reason has he got to _not_ hate my guts right now? Please. Enlighten me, Sam. What hope is there for this shit show of a situation?”

Sam says nothing.

Josh leans his weight on the armrest between them, eyes bright. “Okay. Okay, so picture this: we’re at Sulphur Mountain. We’re in one of the standing areas, the railing has _definitely_ seen better days. It gets all creaky and shit. People are leaning on it, and so am I. You following?”

Sam has a look on her face that says _oh, great_.

“Okay. It really starts to look unstable and the audience is so convinced that it’s gonna go. Everyone in the movie is clueless. They’re not seeing a camera doing a close-up shot on the railing. You see some kid running up the boardwalk and he kicks a rock off while he does, and it gets lodged in a crack in the railing supports. You see that hairline crack get just a little bit bigger.”

“...Right.”

“And then…” Josh says, voice trailing.

Sam’s shoulder stiffens.

“ _Nothing happens_.” He grabs her shoulder for effect and she bats him away.

“Is that all?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “So we keep going. A little higher, view’s nice, wind’s blowing. You’re ahead of me, and then I’m like, ‘Oh shit, I forgot something. Hang on.’ I go back down the boardwalk, which is miraculously empty and then—wham! Fucking goats, Sam.”

Sam blinks. “Goats.”

“Yeah. They’re minding their own business somewhere higher up. One decides, fuck it, I’m kicking this rock. And that rock goes down, hits another rock, so on and so forth, and we have a rock slide. Hits that failing support. Down goes the boardwalk, with me on it. And if that wasn’t enough, not only do I get to fall about 1000 metres to my death, I don’t die from the impact, no. No, that’d be too easy. Too clean. I’m probably hitting a bunch of rocks on the way down and I get like, impaled on a spike. Splat! Blood hits the camera lens. Pan out to you and everybody screaming your heads off. Fade to black.”

“Oh, wow,” Sam says, her voice weak. “Did you just come up with all of that...now?”

“Had half of it ready. The goat thing is new. Really brings it all together, huh? A little taste of Banff.”

“Josh…”  

“What, you don’t like Final Destination? I mean, I know the series sagged a little in the middle, but—”

“You know, you never told me what happened, so I can’t give you any real advice.”

“...Oh.” Dammit. He really did want to gush about Final Destination. Truly. No really.

“Would general advice work?”

He shrugs. “Shoot.”   

“Okay: _talk_ to him.”

Josh touches his forehead, widening his eyes. “Oh, wow. Thank you, Sam. I would _not_ have been able to concoct such a magnificent idea all by my lonesome. A solid ten out of ten from the critics.”

Sam laughs dryly. “I would say that you don’t have to do it _now_ , but that first message has been there since last week. You need to do something about it.”

“I _am_ doing something about it.”

“And by something, you mean…”

“Nothing.”

“Ah.”

“One hundred percent reasonable.”

“No,” Sam says, poking his forehead, “not really.”

“Then it’s one hundred percent foolproof. As long as I don’t open the messages, I could just say: _oh shit, sorry bro, I dropped my phone in the toilet_.”

“Yeah, he...probably wouldn’t buy that.”

Sigh. “...No, he wouldn’t.”

“So that leaves us at First Base.”

“What?”

“First...Base?”

He scrunches his face and pulls back to look at her. “Sam, what sport are _you_ playing?”

“Hey, gimme a break,” Sam mumbles, crossing her arms.

“Not unless you give me one first.”

“For whatever questionable thing you’re doing right now? Not a chance.”

“Then the deal’s off, Sammy,” Josh says. He raises his arms to the ceiling, exclaiming, “No deal!”  

“That’s fine,” Sam says with a shrug, tucking hair behind her ear. “I’m not the one who can’t answer a simple text message.”

“Text messag _es_. More than one. Double the bullshit.”

“Whatever you say, Josh.”

Josh stands and walks down the aisle, patting his hands on the headrests of each passing seat before doing an about-face and coming back. He stares up at the ceiling, at the sky breaking through the clouds like raw pink skin. “I just don’t want this to turn to shit,” he mutters.

“I’m guessing this isn’t something a little Bro Talk can’t fix.”

He smiles thinly. “No. No, I think that would exacerbate things.”

“I see…”

“Throwing down the Bro Card is kinda what got us here in the first place.”

“Ouch.”

“I just don’t know what I’m supposed to— _oof!_ ”

Sam has enough courtesy to stifle her laughter as he apologizes to an elderly couple, the two silently accepting his curse-filled spluttering as they shuffle past him and sit near the front of the car.

Josh watches them for a moment, then turns to Sam and sighs, the line of his shoulders sloping downwards.

“The universe is out to get me,” he grumbles as he sits again.

“Or it’s giving you a sign?”

“And what kind of sign would that be?”

“One day,” Sam says, mimicking the dreamy, looping speech of a second-rate carnival fortune-teller, “one day that could be _yo—u_.” She continues her act while wiggling her fingers at him. “You just need to _talk to him, Josh_. _Ta—lk to hi—im_ …”

Josh lifts a brow and snorts, folding his arms over his chest. “Gotta say, Sam, you’ve convinced me of one thing, at the very least.”  

“Yeah?” she says.

“Yup. I think you should definitely keep your day job. Acting is _not_ your forte.”

Before she can retaliate a mass of passengers scramble into the car, a chorus of _look out the window, there it is, look!_ filling up the space.

They both look, their view framed by camera straps and outstretched arms.

The train slows to a crawl and curves round a grassy shelf of rock, foliage and flowers brushing against the windows on their lofty perches. Once the view opens up, the cameras start snapping and the noise in the car swells like a wave.

It sits in the centre of a concave arc, pine trees accompanied by thick underbrush maintaining a rough outline along its edge. The waterfall, tall and hulking, fans across layers of slanted rock, splitting into foamy ribbons on the way down before reconnecting into two white bands that meander around a small island of pine trees. These, too, connect, forming a stream that flows beside the train before disappearing behind the trees. They’re close enough to hear the water tumble and crash into a cloud of mist, and the spray reaches the windows. Ooh’s and aah’s waft behind them.

Josh puts a hand against his pocket and feels for his phone. He thinks of the messages floating in there and he imagines his thumbs poised over the screen and his own little river of words, of two converging lines. There _is_ something in him, something of a reservoir sitting at the back of his mouth that’s just about teeming, ready to collapse, and yet he can only bring himself to bite down hard on his tongue and send it all back down his throat.   

Once the train speeds up again, they wait for everyone to leave before retiring to their room.

*

By early evening, the train pulls into Jasper. Summer fights off the advance of the night, leaving everything warm and glowing under a clear sky. Porters make their way up and down the platform, helping out with luggage while children scurry towards a colourful totem pole, shouting excitedly for their parents. Mountains sidle up against the horizon, snow sitting on their heads like sleeping caps. Jasper is just as Josh remembers it: small, lived-in, quiet. Perpetually stuck in the 80s. A little kitschy. The air is cold and clean, lacing through their hair as a breeze blows past.

Sam takes in a deep breath as she hoists her bag onto her shoulder. “Man, I could never get tired of this place,” she says.

“Are you dating one of my sisters or one of the mountains?” Josh asks, dodging her when she steps towards him. “Okay but no, really,” he says, walking backwards, “what if I just called her up and was like, ‘Sis, do you know a girl named _Jasper_?’”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Sam says, pointing a finger at him. “Am I supposed to trust that face? Stop!”

Josh tries to flatten out his mouth, but it only makes him grin harder. “She’d—she’d be all ‘ _Jasper?_  No, brother, I don’t know a _Jasper_.’ I’d be like, ‘Well, you’d better ask Sam. I’m innocent in all this, I have no idea what’s going on, I just heard her say that she could _never_ get tired of Jasper. She could go with Jasper all _night_.’”

“Remind me who’s got the outdoor expertise here?” Sam asks coolly.

“Hey. Maybe you don’t give a shit about me, but what would Beth say if she knew you purposely left the third shining light of her life out in the wilderness with nothing but a twenty pack of Timbits?”

“Oh, I’m sure she’d be devastated,” Sam deadpans. “And where, may I ask, are the Timbits coming from?”

Josh stops walking, watching with a lopsided smile as Sam realizes that she’d been mindlessly following him into town.

He points ahead to a lodge converted into a series of shops. A Tim Horton’s sign takes up the most space.  “Up for a Tim’s run before we move onto fine dining in the sticks? My treat.”

“Not that I’m saying no, but I’m immune to bribery.”

“That is _so_ not what Jasper said.”

“Josh!”

*

Twenty Timbits later (they cleared out the entire stock of honey-dip and birthday cake for the day), they hike over to the Fairmont Lodge using a park trail. It takes them a little over an hour, their pace relaxed as they take in the landscape. Once they reach the lodge and start to slow down, though, a dull ache settles in their legs and finding a spot to rest becomes a welcome task after they check in and eat dinner.

With all the Muskoka chairs taken, they opt for a grassy patch by a group of evergreens and shuck off their shoes and socks. It’s just a ways off the walking paths laced around the lodge property, giving them a little privacy. The conversations of a few canoeists carry over in muted tones, an aural ripple to accompany the water, but otherwise the evening is serene.

“We’ve got our own lodge, but we don’t have anything like _this_ ,” Josh says, using his backpack as a pillow. He’d removed most of his stuff from it, save for a small blanket (Sam liked to do daily inventory checks).  

“Yeah…” Sam replies, just as captivated.

Under the lowering sun, the lake (Lac Beauvert, Sam clarifies) has become opalescent, borrowing the soft pinks and whites of the sky to set it alongside its own glacial blue, mirroring as well the surrounding trees and rock. The mountains resemble now whips of meringue, their sharpness subdued and giving way to lazy peaks.   

Smooth round stones blanket the lake bed, glittering like fish scales when they catch the light. As Josh reaches for one, its coldness stings his fingers when he clutches it to his palm. He bounces it there a few times before standing, winding up his arm and leg, and pitching it far out into the water. It lands with a small _plop_.

“So, talk to him,” Josh says. He picks out another stone and throws it to the same spot.

 _Plop_.

“Sounds about right.”

“...Jesus.” And he plops himself down on the ground, laying his head against his pack.  

Sam knits her brows together, scooting down a little so that when she tilts her head down at Josh they make eye contact.

“What?” Josh asks, voice terse.  

“Something happened when you were trying to tell him.”

“Tell him what?” He has to give himself props for how genuine his confusion sounds. Not that his heart rate cares.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sam says, shaking her head at him, “the fact that you’ve been mooning over him for the last five years?”

“Oh. Hah. Right. Almost forgot about that.” He resists the urge to open his bag and pull it over his head. Instead he folds his arms over his chest and sighs. God, his cheeks feel acidic right now and it’s going right through the tissue, he just knows it, and Sam has eyes, so she knows it, and isn’t this just the greatest thing ever wow great fantastic. “Thank you _ever_ so much for reminding me,” he grits out.

“Hey.”

He foregoes a response and stares at the sky.

“You said you were planning on it. Is that what all this is about?”

Josh sets his jaw and observes the canoes drifting across the water.

“So then…”

“I dunno. Things got fucked up.”  

Sam starts making knots in a blade of grass. “I’m almost positive it’s not as bad as you think it is.”

“You’re positively wrong.”

“Well, okay, _honestly_ , neither of us really know how it is, but you’ve got a chance to find out. Why not go for it?”

 _Because_. He could repeat that one million times and come up with one million reasons. Because I’m scared, because I’m a jerk, because I’m pathetic, because I don’t want to look pathetic, because I deserve this, because I don’t deserve that, because I know how it is, because I don’t know how it is. Because, because, because.

So he says, “I’m kinda enjoying the suspense here, aren’t you?”

“Are you?”

Dammit. Why couldn’t she just laugh? Fine, he’ll laugh for her. “Yeah,” he says, “it’s great. Feels good.”

Sam sighs, and doesn’t speak again until minutes have passed between them. She works on weaving her grass into a chain.

While it’s not exactly a comfortable silence, it doesn’t pepper his stomach with worms. Once Sam’s chain reaches a good length, Josh takes it from her and starts working on it himself.

Finally, she says, as she lies down beside him, “It’s not even really about owing him a response. I mean, I think you do, but…”   

He stops fiddling with his hands.

“I also think you owe it to yourself to find out where to go from here. Right now, you’re just...trapped. But you put yourself there, Josh; you can get yourself out. You’re capable of that.”

He furrows his brows, turning the statement over and over and over. He whittles it down until it's smooth. After a few moments, he says, softly, “...Y’think?”

“Yep.”

“And what about Jasper?”

Sam takes the grass chain from him, laughing through her nose. “Jasper wholeheartedly agrees with me.”

“She just doesn’t want to get on your bad side,” Josh says.

Sam smiles and shakes her head as she ties together the ends of the chain. She pushes onto her knees and gives the chain a good toss out into the water, where it floats on the surface like a lost crown. “If you get the rock in, you have to look at what he wrote.”

“What?”

“Here.” She fishes out a rock at random and drops it in his hand. “Throw it in,” she says, and points at the grass chain. “And if you miss, then you’re free to go.”

He isn’t a bad shot. What the hell. He could probably get it in with his eyes closed. He could get it in even if he were sloshed. What is she thinking? But when he observes her face, he doesn’t find derision or pity, or some unsightly in-between. She’s still smiling, and unlike the mountains it’s real meringue; tomorrow morning there won’t be edges to renew or crevices to reveal. It’s real and she knows him.  

As before, he bounces the rock in his hand, assesses its shape, then sends it in an arc over the water. It passes silently through the centre of the chain.  

“Well, would you look at that,” he says, and as giddy as he is there’s no doubting that he also wants to scream.

“You’re welcome,” Sam says, and he can’t think of anything else to do other than throw a handful of grass at her. Their ensuing grass fight turns out to be much more cathartic than the whole screaming idea.  

They end up staying there and talking until the sun slips behind the mountains and stars poke through the sky like needle pricks through fabric. As they head back to the lodge, he imagines just as many needles piercing through his skin. But though they may surround his stomach in a cold silver ring and send tremors through his teeth, he focuses instead on the fact that it’s probably the only thing keeping him intact right now.

*

Well, here goes.

The phone sits across from him, a rectangular void in the centre of the bed.

He looks at the bathroom door, shoulders tense.

Sam had gone in only ten minutes ago, gushing over the hot tub and the view of Lac Beauvert before running to get her phone and earbuds. No way was she coming out in less than an hour. On her best (worst?) days, she could outlast a Vivaldi concerto.

“Good luck!” she had said, standing by the door.

“What if I need adult supervision?”

“You just said you wanted me out of the room...?”

“...Hypothetically speaking.”

“Hypothetically speaking, you’re stalling right now.”

“Hypothetically speaking, that’s not hypothetical.”

“Okay, Josh, I’m leaving now!” ( _Click_ went the door).  

So now it’s just him, the phone, and dread looming over him as another mountain, its shadow tangible and heavy across his shoulders.

Right. So.

He enters his seventh stare-down with his phone, holding his hands in his lap and using his left to squeeze the fingers of his right.

Okay okay okay. No, wait. He should be comfortable for this.

Pyjamas first.

He gets into a ratty Scream T-shirt and kicks off his pants. _Folds_ his pants. Puts them in the official Inventory Corner that Sam had set up.

Okay.

The curtains.

He slinks off the bed and closes the curtains, inspecting the treeline for any shadows. Would be nice to get offed in a home invasion-styled encounter right about now. Hotel invasion. He’s never heard of that one before. He should note it. In his phone? Nah, bad idea.

He finds scrap paper and a pen in his backpack and scrawls down _hotel invasion à la The Strangers + Psycho + You’re Next — > Genius!!! _

The paper and pen get stuffed into his backpack. And now?

Uh, right. The phone.

He looks over his shoulder and there it is. Waiting. On the white expanse of the bed it looks like an airplane window, a shoddy little thing that’ll break on contact and throw him out hundreds of thousands of feet over the earth.

Alright. That’s a little much. It’s just a phone, and it’s just a text message. Text messag _es_. Okay.

No going back.

He returns to his spot on the bed and leans forward, placing one hand beside the phone.

He uncurls his index finger, wakes it.

Licks his lips.

Swipes.

Taps on...okay, hang on, going back to the home screen. Okay. From the top.

He taps on Messages.

Taps on the name at the top of the list.

And he reads.

And he stares.

And reads again, and stares again.

And then he falls backward onto the bed, lips parted, his arms outstretched and his fingers tingling down to the spirals.

“Kill me,” Josh says, and the universe laughs.  


	2. Chapter 2

3 Weeks Earlier

 

“Two weeks, huh? I don’t know. The separation anxiety’s gonna be brutal...”

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine without me, Cochise. I know it’ll be really, really hard, but you’ll manage.”

“Coming from the guy who’s gonna be crying into his pillow for fourteen days straight.”

“Those are going to be tears of _joy_ , bro.”

“...Geez. Don’t you have a heart?”

“Was kind of leaving that to you. I mean, it’s in your name and everything.”

“Yeah, and you’re...a Wash!”

Josh rests his chin in his hand, unimpressed with Chris’ poking and laughing.  

“All...Washed up!” Chris adds, and he’s beyond saving now.  

Josh rolls away to escape the onslaught, melding into the blankets on his bed as he groans. Chris steals his spot, dropping onto his belly and reaching for the floor to grab a PS3 controller.  

It’s 10pm on a Saturday night and Josh thinks, hey Chris, hey dude, hey bro, you didn’t think of this word: _Hart-breaker_. Loser.  

When he stops clinging to his blankets and lies flat on his back again, their arms touch. Sometimes it feels like a jump of electricity going through the marrow of his bones. Today it hits him like warm syrup and he’s relaxed and gelatinous; his shape loosens even further when he observes Chris’ face. At the curve of his jaw, the angles of his nose, the way his mouth pulls a little to one side when he’s smiling. At his eyes, keen and yet as soft as sea salt ice cream (they’d tried making it last week and now he can’t get rid of the damn thought and it’s dumb as hell but it’s also true, so shut up).

“Dude, you there?”

“H-Huh?”  He blinks.

Chris is gazing at him, head tilted. That smile again. “You were like, totally spaced out. Is my knowledge of Katamari lore really that snooze-worthy?”

Josh notices the the colourful characters wobbling on the TV screen, the shapes even stranger upside-down “Hey. This isn’t what I planned.”

“I know, I know, but I’m too tired to be spooked. Can’t we just spend a little time rolling up junk and rebuilding the universe?”

“The universe sucks,” Josh mutters. He isn’t surprised, though, considering they’d spent almost the entire day out with the gang. Even he’s a bit sleepy. It’s almost blasphemous to admit, even in his head.

“I think you’re just mad because you’re bad at this game,” Chris says, nudging him with the controller.

“If anything’s bad, it’s the _controls_.”

Chris snorts. “Nuh-uh, you don’t get to talk to me about bad controls when you’re _that_ far up Silent Hill’s ass.”

“Whoa. Wanna run that by me again?”

“Come on, dude, you can _not_ defend the controls in those games.”

“Did you not hear me last time?” Josh asks, and Chris nods deeply to say _yes, yes, continue_. “Survival horror _needs_ bad controls. That’s part of the tension. A perfect handle over your character’s movement at every moment means the game is granting comfort to the player that they shouldn’t have. You should be afraid for your safety. It’s more realistic. If you were being chased by some—”

“By some horrible, physical manifestation of your most terrifying nightmares and psychological ills…?” Chris says.

Josh raises his brows.

“What? I was listening last time when you waxed lyrical about all this. I listen. Unlike _some_ people.”

“I got distracted,” Josh says, rolling his eyes.  

“By what?” Chris splits his attention between choosing a character to play and darting his eyes to Josh’s.

“By how much of a traitor you are to the cause that is _Silent Hill_ ,” Josh says, and he kicks himself for saying that because—

“Hey, you can’t retcon what just happened!”

“Who says? This is my house.”

Chris screws his mouth to one side, averting his eyes. “I’m pretty sure your house, no matter how ritzy it is, still exists in this dimensional plane of reality and therefore abides by all its laws.”

“Debatable. You know who definitely doesn’t?” Josh asks.

Chris asks, “Who?” and his face goes through the five stages of grief when Josh shoves him off the bed. He yelps and lands in a crumpled heap on the beanbag they’d parked beside the edge. By some miracle he keeps the PS3 controller in his hand for the entire ride.

“Ow,” he groans, feigning agony.    

Josh peers over the edge of the bed, all too smug. “What’s wrong? You get a booboo?”  

“I’m pretty sure you ruptured my spleen.”

“Your spleen is on the left side of your body.” Josh pretends not to notice Chris shifting his hands to palpate the correct area.  

“Yep. Definitely ruptured,” Chris says grimly. Perking up in the same moment, he leans forward so he can rest his chin on his folded arms. “I _don’t_ have amnesia, though. Plan: foiled!”  

“Dammit. Shouldn’t have left the beanbag there,” Josh says, and he eases himself onto his stomach where Chris had laid. Still warm, as if the sun had placed a bar there. He takes the controller from Chris’ hand and eyes the character selection screen. “So, do these guys have different stats or anything?”

“Nah, they’re all the same. Just matters what kind of weirdo you want piloting your katamari.”

“This one looks like you,” Josh says, picking a character covered in blue stripes. “You’ve got a sweater like that.”

“I’m _much_ more handsome,” Chris says, climbing onto the bed and stepping over to flop in what had been Josh’s original spot.

Josh lets out a long, pained hum.

“Jerk.”

“Sorry, bro, I’m just not one to lie.” He chews his lip before he adds, nonchalantly (okay, maybe a little quickly), “Just as cute, though.”

Chris had readied himself to speak, but now his mouth crumples.

“What, you don’t think so?”

“Uh. I could be both...” Chris replies, spacing out each word, making sure their eyes don’t meet.

“...Maybe.” He pretends to entertain the idea in his mind, swaying side-to-side, ensuring that he bumps against Chris at least once. The room is getting warm. Understandable. It’s summer.  

“Don’t look so smug. You haven’t got either on your side.” Now it’s Chris’ turn to bump against him.

“ _I_ haven’t got either?”

“Nope.” Chris’ mouth pops at the end.

“You wanna reconsider that statement?”

“... _Maybe_.”

“Okay. I see how it is.” Actually he doesn’t, but whatever.

Josh starts up a simple level, collecting small items for points. The first few minutes pass with Chris giving pointers and accompanying the soundtrack. He does mostly the latter, until Beth stops by and expresses shock at the fact that they’re not watching a horror movie.

“Could’ve sworn someone was dying,” she says, squinting at the TV. Then she smiles and winks at them. “Haha, kidding!”   

When she leaves, Josh says, “Hate it to break it to you, but she wasn’t kidding.”

“She was just jealous of my vocal range,” Chris says loftily.

Josh thinks, _God, you dork_ , and says, “Yeah, you tell yourself that.”

“Man, I am _so_ not gonna miss you when you’re gone.” To bring the point home, Chris belts out the first two lines of the chorus from _Since U Been Gone_.

“Jesus Christ,” Josh says, cringing, “neither am I.”

“So anyway, what’re you guys planning on doing when you’re over there?”

He makes sure that his character has safely crossed a bridge before answering. “We’re, uh, touring the UBC campus, because Sam wants to cover that while we’re up there. Taking the VIA to Jasper. Busing it from Jasper to Banff, roaming the backcountry. S’gonna be pretty sweet.”

“Your dad never took you out there?”

“Nah. Lodge was enough for his Bear Grylls fantasy. ‘sides, even if he did, I think I’d rather go with someone who isn’t gonna like, take the piss outta me for no reason, right?”

Chris purses his lips, then nods. “Perfectly understandable.”

“Sam’ll do that for the _right_ reasons.”

“Huh. Guess you’d better stay hydrated.”

“Glad you have faith in my character.” Josh pushes against him and Chris pushes back, although neither move away from each other.

“Always will. Even if you do things that make it extremely difficult. Like eating bacon with ice cream and maple syrup.”  

“Shut up. It’s good. And you love it.”

“That’s the problem. You’re corrupting me!”

“Dude. I’m showing you the _light_.”

Chris waves his hand in dismissal. “Whatever, I’m turning it off.”

“You like it better when the lights are off, huh?”

Josh laughs soundlessly as realization caves in the light expression on Chris’ face and leaves him with nothing more than glowing embarrassment and an urge to bury his head in his arms. He whimpers a garbled response to whatever Josh says or does, which, really, amounts to rephrasings of the joke or blowing on his ears or tugging on his shirt.

So Josh unpauses the game and gets back to work, a productive handful of minutes that goes by with nothing but the game’s soundtrack filling the silence in the room.

In time, Chris unfolds himself. He takes off his glasses and cleans the smudges off by stretching the collar of his T-shirt, a process that takes several tries because they end up worse than before. Once he’s satisfied, he puts them back on. He looks a little confused.

“Okay but, man, how do you guys do it? Zero reception, zero games, zero computers. Zero protection from all the horrors of nature. Which, let’s be real, is pretty much everything. That’s torture. Pure. Unadulterated. Torture.”

“S’at right? Then why do you bother showing up at the lodge every year?” Josh asks.

The bed shifts as Chris shifts; Josh pauses the game again.

Maybe he’s imagining things, maybe he’s a little more tired than he thought, because Chris’ face is a touch pink. And he’s staring at his hands, and his hands are fiddling with a blanket corner. It’s residual blush. That’s a thing, right?

Chris says, after a moment: “‘Cause...it’s fun.”

“Yeah?”

His face starts returning to its normal complexion. “Yeah, and I mean, it’s not like it’s a dump up there. There’s movies, there’s games. Booze. Everybody’s there. And you don’t have to worry about a bear yomping on you in the middle of the night.” Smirk. “Plus you’re always practically _begging_ me to go.”

“I’m just looking out for my bro,” Josh says. “Making sure you go outside at least once a year, get your vitamins, that kind of thing. Unless you... _want_ to be a pasty hermit during the winter?”

“I just don’t know if the _bro_ thing is for me anymore, y’know? Maybe I need a new aesthetic. New style. Gotta shake things up a bit.”

“Hermit chic, huh? Perfect; I can set you up with that shack by the lodge and you can have all the squirrels you want.”

“Ooh, I think I’ll start with the squirrel flambée… Or maybe the squirrel frites? Any recommendations?” With his chin in his hand and one brow lifted, Chris looks at him.   

“Yup. Squirrel jerky.”  

Chris bursts into laughter, scales down to chuckling as he repeats to himself what Josh said. _Squirrel jerky!_ “Is that the house special?”

“Take it or leave it,” Josh says.

“Yeah, I _think_ I’ll have to think about that one.”

“I can dig it. More for me.”

“Dude. No. Unless you want like, a hundred simultaneous cases of rabies.”

Josh snaps his fingers and points. “Now _that’s_ how I wanna spend a Saturday night.”

“You’d choose rabies over me? What gives?”

“I’m operating under the assumption that you’d be at the hospital with me, dummy. A double feature of fun?”

“Uh, definitely a double feature of something. And by something, I mean gigantic needles and enough mouth foam for a foam party.” Chris mulls over the idea, exaggerating a pensive face. “Yeah. Y’know what? I could go for that.”

“Cool. I’ll stop by next Saturday?”

Josh attributes the slight tightness in Chris’ voice to his apprehension when he asks, “Is this before or after you contract the rabies?”

“Hopefully before.”

“I’m not getting in the car with you unless you’re absolutely _sure_.”

“Then you can do the honours.”

“Me…?”

“ _You_ pick _me_ up,” Josh says and, oh. Oh wait. What are they—where are they going with this.

Chris’ face displays simple geometry. Circular eyes, mouth a straight line.  

The moment lasts a few seconds and yet he feels time elongating into a long spiral staircase, the top out of his reach no matter how fast he runs.

One good leap, and okay, okay, he has control again. He says, smoothly:

“I mean, as cool as it’d be to drive myself while I’m raging out, doesn’t really make much sense if I’m going to your house first. I’ll just stew in my own barf and foam while I wait for you. Safety first, right?”

“Eugh, _dude_. Did not need that image in my head. And since when do you care about safe—okay, y’know what? No. No needles, no foam party. No rabies for you.”

“You’re no fun, Chris,” Josh whines, and good, he saved it. Chris is still a little flustered, but soon a smile forms and he relaxes again, and they move on to talk about other things.    

He saved it, sure. Ball in the glove. Everything’s still locked away in his mouth, far from reaching the edge, and Chris doesn’t know or doesn’t care. Really.

If that’s the case, then why does he feel so rotten about it?

*

Josh plays through the rest of the level without any further interruption and everything is normal, normal, normal. The colours on-screen have him feeling pretty okay about things up until the game chastises him for not beating the record.   

It earns him a smirk and Chris prodding his shoulder. “See? What’d I tell you? Josh. Is. A Wash.”

“I’ll mop the floor with you yet,” Josh says, but he gives up the controller. Difficult to play when you’re sidled up right next to your [term redacted]. The disappointment of a forgettable score infuses his guilt, making him feel more sour than he should. Well, it’s nothing he hasn’t felt before. He can work with this.  

“Pfft, yeah, maybe in the next fifty years. And that’s being generous.”

“Ever think that maybe I just don’t want to be as versed in geekdom as you are?”

“Look at your room,” Chris says, sweeping his arm towards the walls and shelves. Horror movie posters covering every genre, purchased props and personal works in progress, art books, DVDs. “It’s too late for you, bro! You’ve already been assimilated into the _hivemind_.”

“Damn.”

“ _Nothing_ goes unnoticed with me on the case.”

“Untrue. ‘Member when we changed the colour of our garage and you texted me, asking if we’d moved recently? And then it turned out that you were _standing outside the house the whole time_?”

“...God. Shut up. That was. A really long time ago.”

Besides, if that were true he would see the blinking neon signs above Josh’s head that say _Hey! Breaking news! You’re fucking cute! (And handsome, asshole!)_ Or maybe he has gotten more perceptive since that time, and he’s just ignoring it. Because...okay. No, no, no, don’t think about it. It’s not even midnight. Don’t spoil things.

“ _Any_ way.” Chris picks up the controller, mood recovered as he starts humming the game’s theme song and choosing a level to play.

Josh gives his phone a cursory glance, sees a few unread messages. All from his sisters. Oh boy.

> Beth: tell  
> 
> Han: him
> 
> Beth: tell  
> 
> Han: him
> 
> Beth: tell  
> 
> Han: him
> 
> Beth: tell him to stop singing, but also...t e l l   h i m   u fckin loser

Man, just rip his skin off and call it a day.

> Josh: no, to all those things
> 
> Han: (♥ω♥ ) ~♪
> 
> Josh: :|   
> 
> Beth: (OωO ) ~!!
> 
> Josh: NO

“Why do you text your sisters when you’re in the same house?” Chris asks.

Josh drops his phone.

Chris’s thumbs swivel as he guides his character up a ramp. “Don’t worry; I didn’t see any of your secret sib talk.”

“How’d you know it was them?”

“I could tell by your face,” Chris replies, averting his eyes from the TV for a moment. “It’s a little different when you’re talking to them.”

“Like what?”

“...I dunno. Different.”

“What does that even mean?”

Chris shrugs. “Not as—oh shit, check this out!”

They watch as Chris activates a bonus and begins a points collecting spree.

“Oh my God,” Josh says, as Chris cackles his way to what could potentially be a new record.

“You, my bro, are Washing _done_!”

And it is.

*

They celebrate with Kraft Dinner out of the pot and Josh could just about scream. Not because of the circumstances surrounding the meal, but because of the meal itself.

They’re sharing it, digging into the same creamy mass of powdered cheese and macaroni, the concoction dolled up with garlic, onions, and chunks of bacon they’d pilfered from the fridge. It smells richer and more decadent than the standard fare, which makes it easier to ignore the fact that they found it at the back of a cupboard in a crumpled box.  

“Less dishes to do,” Chris had said, as they stood side-by-side in front of the stove and watched the macaroni simmer.

“We have a dishwasher,” Josh had said.

Quiet.  

“Point still stands.”

So here they are, sharing Kraft Dinner and sitting on the floor, watching the Silent Hill movie. Josh makes sure to gripe as much as possible, if only to convince Chris that he get the most genuine experience.

“The game’s better, bro. I mean, the film isn’t shit,” Josh says, using his fork as a pointer,  “but it completely falls apart in the third act. It messes with the...backstory? What’s that word you use again?”

“Lore?”

“Yeah, that. Messes with _the lore_. The practical effects, though…”

“Yuck,” Chris says.

Josh sighs a dreamy sigh. “Exactly. They’re perfect.”

“It’s doing wonders for my appetite.”

“And that’s why it’s perfect.” Josh leans against the mound of pillows they’d amassed to lean against. Sits up again. “Hey, you know that one flick my dad’s been working on?”

“Oh! What’s it called...uh, _Forest of Bones_?”

“Yeah. Well, they’re changing the title, but guess which lucky duck got to help with the makeup and shit?” Lifting his head, he puts on a haughty smile, one that quickly softens into a grin as Chris grabs his shoulder.

“Holy shit dude! Really?”

Josh nods. “Yup. Pretty stoked to see what it’s all gonna look like after the editors have at it. But from what I’ve been told...I’ve got it. Regular Cronenberg.”

“Oh geez. Is it gonna be that bad—I mean, good?”

“If all is well, you won’t want to even _think_ of macaroni. For like, a month.”

“Guess I should prepare to say my goodbyes,” Chris says, peering into their current pot. “Okay, but, really,” and he flicks his eyes up first before sitting back against the pillows, making sure he has Josh’s attention, “that’s really cool, Josh. It’s gonna be like, so badass.”

“Well, yeah, that’s the idea,” Josh mumbles, shrugging and trying to stave off the wave of heat that threatens to overtake his face. It works to an extent, pooling warm in his chest instead. His heart bobs on the waves.

Now Chris looks cheeky. “Y’think you could score an extra screening ticket for yours truly?”

“Bro, of course.” Josh spoons out the last of the Kraft Dinner, neglects eating it to continue speaking. “That’s not even a question. I’d make sure of it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, if anybody’s gotta be there,” and Josh jumps over the gap in his throat, “it’s you.”

“Cool.” Chris beams and fiddles with his fork; Josh notes that his expression appears more personal, the kind of face you might make when you’re reading a book and turn the page to discover a pleasant scene. When he tilts his foot and knocks it against Chris’, Chris responds in kind. Josh almost leans forward. Another gap to close, this time with more than his voice. And then his chance fades as Chris refocuses and says, “I’ll have to make sure I buy the biggest bucket of popcorn so I have enough to throw at the screen for the entire movie.”

Josh composes himself. “Is that the most fulfilling thing you can think of doing with your hand for ninety minutes?”

“Mm, just about,” Chris says. “And for five seconds: this.”

Chris grabs Josh’s fork hand to immobilize it and clamps his mouth down on the forgotten dollop of macaroni before darting away. Josh must look more bewildered than he realizes, because Chris can barely keep it together and has to clap his hands to his face as his shoulders tremble.

It doesn’t work and the macaroni goes _flying_.

Chris is caught between half-sputtering and half-laughing his head off, Josh joining in only a moment later.

They spend the remainder of the movie cleaning up the mess, silent for seconds at a time before they explode into laughter again and clutch their stomachs. It takes them longer than it should to return things to a pre-Kraft Dinner era, half the mess regenerated when they start whipping balled up napkins at each other.

At some point they finish and flop backwards onto Josh’s bed, giggling now only intermittently. Chris makes for his phone and sifts through notifications, Josh roams around on his laptop. They have the TV set to a channel running a Ghost Adventures marathon. The bed moves with Chris as he searches for a comfortable position, and whenever he comes across something amusing he actually chuckles. Josh can’t choose whether he wants to push Chris off the bed again or wriggle up next to him. So he lies there, motionless, clicking through horror movie trailers on Youtube. Nothing really sticks with him, passing through as though they were motes of debris going through a sieve.    

This is good enough, Josh thinks. Everything has its place, like the components of a film.  Nothing needs to change. The script doesn’t need any revisions. The cast has been assembled, their relationships established. Everything fits together, and although the idea of reconstructing his own films has never worried him, this represents a wholly different challenge. The truth isn’t a premade line to be delivered by a mouth on a screen that will find its match with a premade answer, two events created by his hand and yet only requiring his presence as a voyeur. It’s an improvisation, it’s real, and he can’t control what happens once he introduces it.

When he looks at Chris and Chris returns his favour, though, with that sheepish smile and a bit of cheese on his chin, he goes gelatinous again.    

Hey, to hell with the script.

A little rewrite never hurt anybody, right?


	3. Chapter 3

2 Weeks Earlier

 

Alas, Josh realizes, you can only swing around a tennis racket for so long before your arm cramps up and feels like spaghetti twisted on a fork. Especially if you’re an amateur. Especially when you’re trying fancy backhands. And especially when you’re up against a sister who has multiple trophies on her multiple shelves at home.  

He could also use another hour or so of sleep; for the last few days his bones have been vibrating under his skin, the thrumming working itself in between his muscles and leaving him restless as he tries to ride out the bouts of trembling. No plan yet for his script improvisation. Just the prospect of it alone has him giddy and cloud-headed, has his nerves sparking like open wires. The coolness of the morning only enhances the sensations, breeze flitting sharp over his cheeks and the hairs on his arms.

“Josh, you’re shit at tennis,” Beth calls, voice carrying clear from the sidelines where she’s sitting with Sam, “but you sure as shit know how to stall for time.”

“Thank you, dear sister,” Josh drawls, slouching right as a ball zooms by his nose. He sighs and turns to Hannah with a wilting expression. “Han. You missed. I told you to brain me.”

Hannah swings her arms, racket going in a half arc back and forth. “I’m not gonna brain you. You have a date to get to and you need all the brains you can get!”

She’d gotten the idea in her head this morning when she’d found him in the living room swiping through photos on his phone, a horror movie playing quietly on the TV. What was it? The dopey smile on his face? The absent way he’d said ‘yeah, sure,’ when invited to go to tennis practice at 6:30am? The fact that the photos were of [name redacted] and he’d gone through excessive lengths to hide it?

“Han, I’m _not_ going on a—”

“I mean there isn’t much in there to begin with, so she’s got a point,” Beth says. She gives Sam a one-armed hug. “Right, Sam?”

Josh knows what’s coming.

“Sorry Josh; the best I can do is play it neutral,” Sam says with a shrug.

“Is that what you’re gonna say when I’m getting ripped open by a bear?” He turns, dragging his feet as he goes to fetch Hannah’s rogue ball. Once he reaches it, he kicks it and it ricochets off the surrounding fence towards the stands. Despite three voices calling to him, he continues his trajectory towards the ball and disappears behind the rows of seats.

Once there he leans against them, sighs, and fishes his phone out of his pocket to reread an earlier conversation.

> Josh: dude
> 
> Josh: u doin anything today
> 
> Hartbreaker: is that a question or
> 
> Hartbreaker: are u telling me i’m doin anything today
> 
> Hartbreaker: ??????
> 
> Josh: guess
> 
> Hartbreaker: ok i’m doin anything today
> 
> Hartbreaker: and that thing is
> 
> Hartbreaker: goin back to bed
> 
> Hartbreaker: bc it’s 7am bro!! wyd!!!
> 
> Josh: oh wtf i forgot
> 
> Josh: i’m at tennis
> 
> Hartbreaker: nah it ok
> 
> Hartbreaker: txt me in like 2hrs when im alive     
> 
> Josh: night night zombro :3  
> 
> Hartbreaker: byeeeeeee snzZZZZZ

Well, one hour to go now. Is one hour enough time to make a will? Ugh. His arm is throbbing. Maybe a verbal will work. If all his collector’s edition films could be arranged in a halo around him in his coffin, and…

“Gotcha!”

He gasps as a pair of arms latch on around his shoulders and legs scrabble against his calves.

“Aren’t you a little too old for this?” Josh asks, bending forward and catching Hannah’s legs with his arms. He manages to slip his phone into his pocket with some special manoeuvring.    

“You should take this as a compliment actually,” Hannah says.

“Inflicting spinal injuries. Sign of affection. I’ll make a note of that, Hannah Montana.”  

“It just means I don’t consider _you_ too old, Mr Drama King.”

“Most gracious sister of mine, you are too kind.”

As they round the stands and make their way back to the court, they spot Beth braiding a lock from Sam’s bangs.  

“Ladies, please, keep it PG!” Josh shouts, adding a “We’ve got virgin eyes up here!” Hannah bops his head with a pinkened face.

Sam rolls her eyes, contrasting with Beth’s flashing a trademark Washington Smirk. Josh stops moving and lets Hannah off, eyes narrowing.

Hannah plops herself down by Sam, making for her water bottle and taking a few sips. When she stops, she exchanges glances with Sam and Beth. Together, they turn to Josh.

His shoulders slump. “Cornered,” he says sourly.

“Have a seat, brother,” Beth says.

Hannah pats the spot in front of them.

Sam (again) can only shrug as Josh stares at her. “Sorry, Josh. I had nothing to do with this,” she says.  

“Could’ve stopped it from happening,” he mumbles, surveying their surroundings. He could make a break for it if he tried. Run down the court, kick the door shut, beeline in and out of the trees through the park, get out into the open and hop on the first bus back home. Well, yeah. He could. If he could still do a home run sprint. Dammit.     

Sam hums. “Well, after what Hannah told us, maybe I _kind_ of agreed that you needed an intervention…”

“What is this: Dr Phil?” He uses his hand as a visor. “Where’s the cameras? I’ll give them a shot to remember.”

“God. Don’t wanna know what that involves,” Beth says.

“You jealous of my assets, E-liz-a- _beth_?”

“Uh-huh. That is exactly it.”

Hannah crosses her arms. “Can you sit down already?”  

“Nope,” he says, copying her pose.  

“Josh, c’mon. We have an _amazing_ plan,” Beth says, yanking at one of Josh’s socks and letting the elastic snap against his ankle.

“Ow! Wait. _Hannah’s_ plan?”

“No, that was a joke!”

All eyes on Hannah.

“ _Guys_...it was…” she says, undoing her ponytail and twirling hair around her fingers.

Josh keeps his bitterness under his tongue. “That was straight out of a rom-com. And you know what doesn’t work in real life, Hannah Banana? Rom-coms.”

“Well, I thought it was cute. And _you-know-who_ likes rom-coms.”

“Neither of us need to be put in the hospital in the name of ‘it was cute.’”  

Beth sighs. “You guys need to be put in the hospital for taking so damn _long_.”

“Oh. You. You’re funny.” Now Josh sits. “Talking real hot for someone who didn’t even end up making the first move.”

“I don’t have to be an artist to critique the art,” she says. “Besides, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“I gave you a freakin’ TED talk, and that didn’t even do it for you. I talked to Sam for, what, ten minutes? And she was raring to go.”

Beth almost chokes on her water as he speaks. Wiping the excess from her chin, she says, “You considered that a TED talk?”

“I’ll admit there was maybe 40% more drunken rambling than your average talk. Other than that? Eloquent. Intricate. _Heart_ felt. Oscar-worthy.”

Beth opens her mouth to retort, chooses instead to lean against Sam’s shoulder, smiling to herself. “Pfft. Okay. Fine. Whatever. I mean, I was almost there.”

“And I met you the rest of the way,” Sam adds.

They’re pretty much snuggling now, and though Josh’s heart swells round and warm, he feels a small stone inside of it all, cold and lodged in the centre of his chest.  

“So, what’s the plan?” he asks, before he can start wallowing.

Hannah perks up. “Don’t you know what today is?”

“It’s Friday.”

“Yes, _and_ …?” Beth says.

“And we’ve got 40 minutes for you guys to spill the beans before I get an aneurysm.”

“Oh my god, he’s clueless.”

“I can do it in one,” Hannah says, flipping her hair over her shoulder with a flourish.

“An aneurysm in one minute. Look at Hannah _go_.”

“No aneurysms, just beans.”

Josh nods. At this point, they’re the same thing. Aneurysm-inducing beans. “Okay. Shoot.”

Hannah clears her throat, claps her hands together. “Today’s the first day of the OC Fair!”

Josh swallows. Hard.

*

> Hartbreaker: hey duderino
> 
> Hartbreaker: couldn’t rly sleep so i’m back early
> 
> Hartbreaker: what’s shakin
> 
> Josh: ok yeah so
> 
> Josh: it’s Friday
> 
> Hartbreaker: fried egg, fried egg
> 
> Josh: what the fuck
> 
> Hartbreaker: gotta get down on fried egg
> 
> Josh: why are u doing this
> 
> Hartbreaker: still in sleep mode anyway pls continue
> 
> Hartbreaker: ~*~it’s Friday~*~  
> 
> Josh: and OC Fair starts today
> 
> Hartbreaker: that is how annual fairs generally work
> 
> Josh: i know we all usually go before school starts
> 
> Josh: i’m bored out of my mind tho  
> 
> Josh: let’s go tonight  
> 
> Hartbreaker: we’re all going???
> 
> Josh: just us  
> 
> Josh: everyone’s busy or wants to wait so
> 
> Josh: u still game or no?
> 
> Hartbreaker: i’m……………………
> 
> Hartbreaker: yeah
> 
> Josh: hi yeah
> 
> Hartbreaker: :/ joke thief   
> 
> Josh: :3c
> 
> Hartbreaker: ok ok ok okasdofkdfk anyway  
> 
> Hartbreaker: yeah i’m game
> 
> Josh: coolio stop by at 4.30
> 
> Josh: shit no i mean me
> 
> Josh: i’ll stop by at 4.30
> 
> Hartbreaker: sounds good bro!!
> 
> Josh: ok
> 
> Hartbreaker: ok
> 
> Josh: later dude :3
> 
> Hartbreaker: :3   

*

The minute Hannah sits next to him in Sam’s car, her face lights up and he has to turn away. “Okay okay, so, the _first_ thing you should do is—”

“No.”

“Josh!”

“Not sure how many times I’m gonna have to tell you guys,” he says, facing the window as Sam pulls out of the lot, “but this isn’t a date.”

“What the hell is it then?” Beth asks.

“It’s a Bro’s Night Out.”

“Josh,” Sam says, “ _sweetie_ …”

“I know, pretty sick term, right?”

Beth turns from the front seat. “It’s fucking stupid.”

“I thought being an asshole was my job.”

“You’re doing a better job being a huge weenie right now, so in the interim _I’ll_ be the asshole this family needs.”

“You’re doing great so far,” Josh says.

“ _Why_ are you making this so difficult?”

“Me? I’m making this difficult?”

“You kind of are,” Sam says.

“That’s funny,” Josh says, “because I was thinking it’s more the other way around.”

Beth lets out a defeated grumble, facing the front again.

Hannah pokes his arm.

He pauses for a moment, letting his frustration percolate into his stomach before he glances at her.

“Josh, we just want you to be happy?” she says. “I mean, I know you think you’re _really_ good at looking and being like, laid-back and chill all the time, and most of the time you are. Not all the time. That’s how you were this morning. You were smiling, but underneath you just looked...really sad. It really sucks to see you like that.”  

“Way to broadcast it to the whole world,” he grumbles. God. Did he really look that pathetic? Or was she making that up to get to him?  

“We’ve all seen it,” Beth says. “It’s pretty much every time Chris leaves the house.”

“It’s painful,” Sam adds, as she makes a turn.

“Great. My very own CCTV system.”  It’s not her fault that the sun beams straight into his eyes; he’s blaming her anyway. Shame on you, Sam.

“If it’s the idea of him not liking you back that’s stopping you, take it from me,” Beth says. “He likes you. He definitely—”

“Definitely—” (Sam).

“ _Definitely_!” (Hannah).

“—likes you.”

“I dunno,” Josh says, after a long beat.  

Everyone in the car makes a sound of disbelief.

Beth leans back in her seat. “Wow, Josh. I’m really starting to understand why you were so frustrated when _I_ was waffling around. This is unbelieveable. Man, you really don’t get it until you see someone else doing the exact same thing.”

“This isn’t the exact same thing.”

“Why?” Sam asks.

Josh shifts and crosses his arms over his chest, letting the trees lining people’s yards blur into amorphous stripes as he gazes out the window.

“It’s the exact same thing,” Beth says.

“It’s not the same thing,” Josh kicks the bottom of her seat, “and it’s not a date.”

“But...our plan,” Hannah says.  

He exhales loudly and pulls out his phone, allowing Hannah to see a snippet from his conversation. “You can read it right here. I didn’t ask him out. Therefore: not a date.”  

Hannah scrolls right to the bottom. “Awww, you put a cat face! And he sent. One. _Back_!”  

Josh wants to say, _I know. That means something, right?_ Instead, he nods.

Beth groans. “Alright, this is too much.”

When he stretches his legs, he presses them harder than necessary into the back of Beth’s seat. “Need a barf bag, dear sister?”

She pushes back. “Several.”

“I just have one suggestion for you,” Hannah says. “Hear me out?”

“Suggest away.”

“Take him on the ferris wheel. You have to.”

Oh god.

Beth jumps in. “And you’ve _got_ to win him a prize. Or let him get you one. Someone has to get a prize.”

Jesus.

“Yes!”

Josh laughs through his nose, because he thinks his voice might waver. “That a law?”

“It’s a _law_.”

“Share a cotton candy,” Sam adds.

“Cotton.”

“Candy.”  

“Have you seen Chris when he’s hyper? It’s not a good look,” Josh says, trying to play it serious. Their ideas have him abandoning that concept.

He pictures the midway, lined with palm trees and vendors and games, and these lined themselves with radiant bulbs so that each stands out stark against the starless sky. The smell of fried food, the undulating din of ride-goers. And them in the centre of it all, him and Chris. Standing close, strangely silent, except it’s not quite so strange because they’ll be looking at each other, looking into each other, and maybe something will happen?

He sighs, unaware of Beth and Hannah winking at each other.

Maybe something will happen.

*

After having listened to his sisters give an endless stream of advice during the rest of the car ride home (he’s almost certain that Sam took them to breakfast to prolong his torture), Josh is only too happy to shower and flop onto his bed and listen instead to an endless stream of screaming and gut spilling. In the middle of picking his second movie, it hits him.

He’s going with Chris. Alone. To a fair. On a summer night. Lifting his hands from the keyboard, he falls back on his bed and folds them over his chest. Wow.

Okay, okay, sure, they’ve done things together about a million times. But this time is different. For him at least. Bro’s Night Out? Bullshit. He knew he’d sounded like a complete ass when he said it. It did represent the truth in a way, though. Chris didn’t know any better. That’s all this was to him. Just another hangout between best friends on a Friday night. Nothing out of character; Josh had called on him to do a lot of things without the rest of their friends, knowing they’d do it again later with them anyway. Or not. It didn’t matter, because they were Best Friends and that was what Best Friends did.

If today were a film reel, it would resemble many other days in Josh’s life.

Not for long.

He imagines taking scissors to it. _Snip_. Everything past 4:30 pm: gone.

Now: a new roll of film, blank and malleable. Chris will expect the old footage. Josh hopes he won’t mind the update. Not just that. He hopes he’ll like it. God, he hopes he likes it.

“Josh, can I come in?” comes a muffled voice from beyond his door, accompanied by a few knocks.

He clears his throat. “Password?”

“That’s new.”

“No password, no entry.”

“You don’t want to carry _all_ of the cookware in two weeks, do you?”

Josh chuckles, moves his computer aside, and strolls towards the door to fling it open. “Nice, Sammy. I knew you’d get it in one shot.” He peeks behind her. “I see you didn’t bring the terrible two with you.”

Sam raises a brow.

“Oh. Sorry. I shouldn’t say that, considering you _are_ sucking faces with one of them on the regular.”

When she raises her hand to push past him, he intercepts her motion and highfives her. Sam hums and goes to sit cross-legged in the windowed alcove by Josh’s bed.

She doesn’t say anything as she looks out over the backyard and to the city beyond, a hazy smattering of grey. Josh returns to his bed, eyeing her warily.

Sam turns to him and asks, “Are you ready for your ‘Bro’s Night Out?’”

Right for the jugular. Should’ve known. He groans and runs a hand through his hair.

“You’ll be _fine_ , Josh. We’re really excited for you, but you don’t need to make a move if you don’t want to. I think this counts as a big one.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes as he messes around with his laptop, mind wandering in and out of holes. Then he moves from the bed to occupy the spot across from Sam, stretching his legs out and pressing his back to the warm glass.

“What’s on your mind?” Sam asks.

He shrugs. “Lot of things.”

“Name one.”

Hm. “Dunno what to wear.”

“ _You-know-who_ ’s seen you in some very...interesting outfits over the years. I think you’ll be okay.”

“What’s with the ‘you-know-who’ thing?”

Sam smiles wide. “Han’s got us all hooked on that now.”

“Great.”

“I know. So what else?”

“D’you think he’s into cologne?”

“Kind of pointless at a carnival.”

“Right. Okay, so—”

She raises her brows, lips a flat line.

“Okay. Sorry.” He leans against the window frame. “I’m just….you know. This is pretty fucked up.”

“It’s been a long time coming, in my opinion.”

“I feel like I’m going to mess this up somehow,” Josh says. “Like I shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Why’s that?”

He passes his tongue over his teeth. It takes him time to find the words, each one buried in himself under layers and layers. Once he does, he speaks in a controlled tone. “...I don’t want to lose him.”

“Before I started dating Beth, I felt the same way.”

“I remember when we talked about that. After that pool party.”

“Do you know how hard it was for me to hold a serious conversation with you while you had heart glasses on your head?”

“At least I wasn’t drunk, Sam. You can’t have everything.”

“...You were definitely a little drunk.”

“...Okay. Maybe a little.”

“Anyway,” Sam says, “I don’t know if you remember what you told me, but you said…”

“‘Even if things go to shit, you’ll feel better being the real you, right?’” Josh says.

“Mmhm. You also said,” and Sam clears her throat, putting on an impression of Josh’s voice, “‘Do you have eyes, Sam? Because right now I am _seriously_ doubting it. I’ll cover your Lasik just to end this already.’”

Josh laughs loudly, more at how bad Sam sounds than his choice of words. “Yep. I said that, too.”

“Yeah. That first thing that you said, though. I dunno, it was really simple. But it helped. I’d been thinking that myself and it was nice to have it validated, you know? It was good advice.”

“Huh. That’s…” He picks at his nails, mouth twitching up into a curl. “That’s cool.”

She leans forward and squeezes his forearm. “Maybe you should try taking it this time.”

He scoffs.

“Alright, you baby,” she teases. “Although I have to say...talking about this really makes me wonder what Beth got. She hasn’t told me yet.”

“We already went over this. It was a tear-jerker. The academy _loved_ it.”

“With your taste in movies, I’m kind of questioning what _kind_ of tears they were...”

“Good tears,” Josh says.

“Still doesn’t clear anything up for me.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be making me feel better? This is the worst pep rally ever.”

Sam puts on a contemplative face, thinking, thinking. With a light punch to Josh’s shoulder, she says, “Go get ‘em, tiger!”

Josh tries for a judgmental grimace; he can’t hold it for more than a moment before his shoulders start to shake and laughter filters between his teeth.

“Did that do the trick?”

“I’ve got third degree second-hand embarrassment.”

“No, I think it worked,” Sam says.  

Josh crosses his arms, head lifting. “You finally happy that someone’s joining your gay brigade?”

Sam tilts her head. “Weren’t you always in it?”

“Oh, right. We’re the founding members, huh?”

“Yep.”

They share smiles, and Josh takes in the heat of the sun on his back, lets it spread through the curve of his ribs.

*

When he leaves the house, he’s fresh out of watching _Brain Dead_ and maybe he’s reached some point of nonchalance about this whole thing. As he gets in his car and starts the drive to Chris’ place, he settles comfortably against the seat and his hands aren’t white at the knuckles. They were bone-pale when he was staring at himself in the mirror twenty minutes earlier, half scrutinizing himself and half floating out of his skin.

He’d cleaned up nicely until he remembered two things:

  1. This wasn’t a date
  2. You don’t clean up to go to a freaking fair



Casual, Josh. You’re a casual, chill, fun-loving guy. Yes. Now muss up your hair.

It’s just your best friend, your bro, and you’re out tonight to have a good time. That’s all. He’s just some guy. Some guy with...an alright face. A pretty alright face. A really alright face with really nice eyes and an adorable smile. And stupid glasses. Stupid, stupid glasses. He’s all stupid. He’s a total nerd and he is _not_ cute, and he isn’t funny or smart or _anything_ , isn’t interested in you and the things you do, and that’s that.

Alright. We’re all good here.

Get it together, Josh.

He rolls up by the curb once he reaches Chris’ house, the sun low in a blue-orange sky. On the way down from the hills, it had looked more like the result of an inverted shoreline, the city below a strange grid-locked sky.

And as he approaches the front door, his heart inverts, too, when the door swings open and Chris steps out and actually no, we are _not_ good here at all, this is an emergency.

Josh stops on the second step to the porch. Neither of them say anything for a moment, both startled.

“Eager, much?” Josh finally asks, letting his shoulders relax.

“Pfft, sure,” Chris says, turning abruptly to lock the door. “Eager to kick your ass at those games!”

“Okay. Just letting you know that any feats you may accomplish tonight are due to an unfair advantage.”

Chris follows him down the steps. “Oh yeah? What’s your excuse?”

Josh raises his arm. “Fucked this up from tennis.”

“Tennis. ...Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“You wanna see all the strokes I know?” Josh asks, rounding the front of his car to his side.  

Chris snorts. “I think I should call for a new Uber driver.”

“You say that, and yet you’re getting in my car.”

Shrug. “Maybe I’ve decided I’ll give you a second chance.”

“Which app helped you make that decision?”

“Dude, shut up,” Chris says playfully. “Let’s get going before the fair closes.”

“Alright. Let’s go.”

*

The drive to Costa Mesa takes just over an hour; they don’t mind the wait to get into town, enjoying from a distance the looming lights and the rumble of the rides, the swoop and rise of mechanical arms decked in bright bulbs.

“I think this is the first time we’ve gone without everybody else,” Chris says, turning from the window to Josh.  Even though he’d spent a better part of the drive talking, the statement feels sudden. Isolated, like a note slipped under the door.

Josh meets his eyes, almost misses the green light as he considers what Chris said. “Yeah,” he says. How eloquent of you, Josh. A Shakespeare in the making. Jesus.

“You must’ve been really bored.”

“Bored as fuck.” He scours the parking lot for a spot. “Glad you pulled through, Cochise.”

“Glad you asked me to come,” Chris says. He points out a free space and Josh makes his way over.  

“You sure you’re not just saying that?” Josh asks.  

“I’m not,” Chris says, chuckling.  

“You’re not sure or you’re not just saying that?”

“I’m not just saying that.”

Josh shuts off the engine. Stray lights blink and shine through the windshield, clinging to the edges of Chris’ glasses. He focuses on that first before his face.

“Do you think I’m lying?” Chris asks.

“Just thought you might have some ulterior motives,” Josh says, keeping his tone light, lips curled.

Chris appears a little taken aback by his words. “Ulterior motives,” he repeats, fiddling with the aglets of his jacket.

Okay, okay, too much. Remember. Casual. Cool.

“Yeah. Like, maybe you’re just here to show me up every time I’m close to winning some cool shit. So that I’ll have way more than a fucked up arm by the end of the night.”  

“Oh,” Chris says. He grins. “I’m not just saying it, Josh. I’m...also not saying that you shouldn’t be careful tonight.”

With that, Chris gets out of the car. Josh follows, and they fall together in step as gravel crunches under their feet. Though what Chris said sounds more like a warning, he finds himself gravitating closer and closer towards his side until they’re almost touching by the shoulders.  

Once they reach the ticket booth, their hands bump when they both go for their wallets.

“Bro, don’t worry about it. I got this,” Josh says.

“Are you sure? I mean, you don’t have to…” Chris is watching him, his wallet open in his spread hands.

Josh folds the wallet closed onto Chris’ right hand, then takes his freed left and places it on top so that the wallet is sandwiched. “I want to,” he says.

“Okay,” Chris says, nodding stiffly and almost dropping his wallet when he shoves it back into his pocket.

As they proceed to the turnstiles, Josh can only think of how Chris’ hand had felt, thick and warm, of how tingly his fingers feel, of how this night probably won’t last long enough.  

*

The smell of hot sugar and oil infuses the air, sweet and full and folding in the creases of their clothes as they enter the midway. Only a fraction of the day’s heat remains as the sun tucks into the hills. Music wafts from every corner, overlaid with the shouts circulating around the game booths and the rides scattered around the fair. Past the towers of spinning rides and funhouses and the gondola going over the fair stands the ferris wheel. Against the sky, mostly dark now except for a creamy peach along the bottom, everything glows vivid in their veils of multi-coloured bulbs.

Josh pictures an ocean teeming with bioluminescent creatures, bodies swooping past each other in shimmering blurs or remaining still, lying in wait for the right passersby. It’s the perfect set, and it fills him with electricity.

“Geez,” Chris says, observing the crowds filing back and forth amongst the stands, “no wonder we always go near the end. This is nuts.”

“Need to hold my hand, Cochise?”

“Why? Are you getting nervous already? It’s okay, I won’t judge.”

“I’m a wreck.”

“You eaten yet?”

“Nah. You?”

“Nope. Let’s get some grub. Maybe that’ll calm you down,” Chris says, and he goes for Josh’s wrist, pulling him along for a few steps to get him moving.

Josh feigns resistance, if only to prolong the contact. Chris seems oblivious to his fluttering pulse. Does he have any nerves in his fingers? Guess not.

“I’ll pay this time,” Chris says, as they head towards a grouping of food vendors.  

“Bro, you don’t have to,” Josh starts to say, but Chris shushes him.

“I want to,” he says, sticking out his tongue.

Well, can’t argue with a face like that.

They start with corn dogs before moving onto the dark side of fair food, and there’s really nothing behind their suggestions for each other other than ‘dude, eat this, it looks like irradiated garbage.’ So they end up splitting bacon-wrapped grilled cheese and a poutine drenched in nacho cheese, sour cream, and hot dogs. As horrifying as they look, smelling of grease and promising a 50/50 chance of food poisoning, Josh doesn’t mind them and the risk of spending the next day writhing on the floor is worth it. Mostly because Chris doesn’t know how to eat products coated in melty cheese, and it is an absolute _joy_ watching him struggle against the long, stretchy strands. While it starts out genuine, Josh feels like once he started giggling, Chris made it into a show to get him really going despite his face becoming redder than a candy apple.

Walking off those concoctions takes some time. After making a few rounds of a shopping district, Josh doesn’t feel so much calm as he does buzzed, flickering with the energy of the crowds and the cooling night. He keeps slanting into Chris, walking into his path until Chris starts copying him, and soon they’re shoving at each other until they’re almost stumbling to the ground. They don’t even think of stopping until they get disapproving glares from a few parents, one of them coughing loudly to grab their attention.

“ _Behave_ yourself, Christopher,” Josh said, clicking his tongue and grabbing Chris’ shoulders to steady him. “You’re setting a very bad example for today’s generation.”

Chris snorts. “ _You’re_ the older one. Don’t make me out to be the bad role model.”

“You’re like, the poster child of those PSAs against getting more than 100 hours of screen time a week. You’re a bad role model.”

“That may be true, but that’s not applicable to the current circumstances at hand. You’re a bad role model.”

“I’m a bad role model, you’re a bad role model. Guess we were made for each other, huh?”

Chris stops moving, and that’s when Josh realizes he never let go of his shoulders. The sudden change in speed makes his grip tighter. Shit. He tries not to remove his hands too quickly.

“What?” Josh asks.

“Uh.” Chris ducks his head and looks at his feet. He bumps against Josh, gently. “You’re not _that_ bad,” he says, and his voice only just carries over the surrounding din.

He blinks and his eyes widen a touch. Licking his lips, he says, “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“I feel like I’m pretty bad,” Chris says.

“Bro. You’re about as bad as a pile of puppies with ice cream. Sorry.”  

Chris pouts. “You’re not sorry.”

“Nope,” Josh says, poking at Chris’ puffed out cheeks and laughing when his hands get batted away.

“Make it up to me,” Chris says, firm.  

“And how do you expect me to do that?”  

“Win me a prize,” Chris says. He points ahead, singling out a ball toss game. “There’s a Pikachu over there that’s calling out my name.”

“Calling out your _name_?” Josh says. “Chris, you _are_ bad.”

“What? No... _no!_ Josh. No. That is so fucked up. Can you like, rewind what you just said so I can unhear it and all the implications you were making? Where are you—?”

“Don’t worry, dude,” Josh calls, as he jogs off, “I’ll reunite you with your long lost love.”

Chris walks into him just as he’s handing over a bill to the operator, and he makes a show out of nearly falling over into the booth.

“Control yourself, Cochise. I know you really want that yellow rat for your shrine, but you’ll have to be patient.”

“You owe me _two_ Pikachus for saying that.”

“Don’t get greedy, bro.”

Even if his arm weren’t still messed up from tennis, he would have little faith in his ability to do anything other than humiliate himself. Before him are rows of milk cans and each one is a roadblock from hell designed to make him look like an absolute fool in front of Chris. He remembers when Sam worked one summer running the games at an amusement park, had showed him the ins and outs of a few of them.

Well. Let’s try and stay positive.

He loosens up his arm, wincing when it aches, and grabs a baseball. It doesn’t even feel like a normal baseball. The operator doesn’t have a maniacal leer on their face. They might not have been informed of the evils of their establishment.

“Remember,” Josh says, “my arm is fucked.”

“I remember,” Chris says, not sounding one bit sympathetic. More amused than anything.

Okay. Throw #1. He tosses the ball in a soft overhand.

...And it plonks off the edge of a milk can.

“Well, something got canned at least,” Chris snickers.

“My ego.”

“Yup. C’mon, bro, two more shots.”

He picks up another ball. “Not the kind of shots I wanna be taking right now.”

Throw #2. A little more force and it feels like he’s thrown out a couple bones in his arm alongside the ball.

It appears to go inside the edge of the can, bounces out in the same second.

“ _Dammit_ ,” he whispers. His brows knit together. He curses whoever or whatever is interfering with his abilities. Maybe Chris doesn’t care all that much, but he would very much like to impress him tonight, thank you.  

“Josh. I put in the adoption papers. I expect my Pikachu to come home with me tonight.”

Nevermind. He does care. Who’s he kidding, the guy has shelf space dedicated to Pokemon plushies.

Josh nods, nods.

He makes both Chris and the operator jump when he flings his last ball in a blur. It shoots at a far can before rebounding backwards into the air in a steep arc. It floats for what seems like hours. It comes down just as slow.  

And drops right through the centre of a can, rattling the bottom.

They all stare.

Josh turns to the operator, to Chris. Chris locks onto him, dumbfounded. Then he breaks into a wide grin, offering his hand for a high five and Josh accepts, whooping loud and now they’re grabbing at each other’s arms and babbling. The operator’s congratulations goes unnoticed.   

“ _Dude_ , what the fuck!”

“You see that shit?”

“Thought you were gonna break the can in half!”

“S’how my arm feels.”

“Are you okay?!”

“Um...?”

The two of them stop talking, slowly letting go of each other.

The game operator is smiling and waving. “Your prize?”

“Oh shit,” Josh says. “Which one do you want, bro?”

“Oh, uh, it doesn’t matter,” Chris says. “Anything.”

“You were putting together a college fund for your rat baby and now you’re getting cold feet? Terrible, Cochise.”

“Okay, okay. That one. And he’s _not_ a rat baby.”

Of the available plushies, a bunch of Pikachus in different get-ups, he chooses a Pikachu wearing a baseball cap and a small glove on its hand. Is this a sign or a joke? Either way, his cheeks flicker with warmth.

The game operator takes it down with a hook, passing it to Chris with two hands. “Enjoy, you two!”

“It calls his name at night,” Josh says as they’re walking away. Chris decks him in the head with the plushie just he finishes.

They continue to walk close together, hands centimetres away.  

Josh thinks of _accidentally_ swinging his hand outward.

Maybe later. He could blame it on his arm twitching or something. You know how it is.

For now, he’s having a good time watching Chris clutch at the plushie, smiling at it every so often.

*

“You sure you know how to use that thing?” Josh asks, smirking. He doesn’t look as intimidating as he’d like, considering he’s holding Chris’ Pikachu and a fluffy cloud of cotton candy.

Chris brandishes the air rifle, pretending to tip a hat over his eyes and saying, in a terrible voice, “I surely reckon I do, partner.”

“I’m going to take that as a no.” Partner. _Partner_.

“Now, now, no need to be jealous,” Chris says, tutting.

“You look like a goon.”

“ _Josh_ ,” Chris says, “language!”

Josh opens his mouth to say something, closes it as Chris tightens his poise and takes aim. His faces goes solid and stern as he narrows his eyes, mouth no more than a line. Carefully, Chris follows the moving targets, rifle figure-eighting back and forth. A cactus, a tumbleweed, and a vulture, each one quicker than the last. Thirty seconds to get all three. Six shots.

Chris’ brow quirks as he stills and Josh chews his lip, something of a chill flitting across his skin even if humidity still remains in the air.

Two shots pop off from the rifle.

Two targets fall.

Josh wants to tackle him around the waist just for getting those. Instead he squishes the Pikachu in his hand and holds his breath.  

The last target takes Chris up until the final seconds on the clock, albeit he doesn’t appear particularly rushed. He breathes slow and readjusts and the rifle pops.  

Target down, three seconds on the clock, and the clueless charm that usually characterizes Chris’ face returns as he pushes his glasses back into place.

“What the hell, man,” Josh says, advancing on him and pushing him with the Pikachu. “When’d you learn to shoot like that? We haven’t been paintballing in forever.”

“Um. What if I told you I sometimes mess around with the rifle at the lodge…?” Chris asks, handing the rifle back to the operator and pointing to one of the plush animal prizes. 

“Dude. You’ve been fucking around with my dad’s _shooting range_?”

Chris winces and nods.

Josh chuckles. “Don’t worry about it. Doesn’t even count his mags; he won’t miss ‘em. He freakin’ leaves his stuff outside. Anyway, you have _got_ to show me some time. It’d be sick.”

“That it would,” Chris says, mouth squiggling. “Anyway, this is for you. You said I could choose, so…”

Chris extends his arms, in his hands a giant grey tabby cat with a piece of bread framing its simplistic face.

Josh exchanges the Pikachu for it, gazing at its circular eyes. “It’s freakin’ weird,” he says. “I love it.”

“Thought you would,” Chris says.

“You and your memes.”

“Me and my memes. Me memes.”

They’re both laughing, both realizing that they’re standing before each other holding plushies to their chests. Their eyes meet, avert, meet, avert. Josh can’t tell if it’s his heart that’s beating or if it’s the enclosing music seeping between him. He wants to say:

  1. I think you’re cute
  2. I think you’re a dork
  3. I think you’re the cutest dork I’ve ever met



Instead he bites his lip again and turns away, saying, “Hey, wanna hit up the ferris wheel before we blow this joint?”

Chris’ voice is small when he says, “Yeah, I do.”

*

Instead of heading straight for the wheel, they beeline for it in arcs as if they were travelling along the crests and troughs of rippling water, their movement slow and measured as they pass by colourful booths and rides shaking the earth under their feet. It takes time for their frequency to peter out.

They talk about summer, about second year, about movies and shows. Anything. Chris gets going about an internship he wants to apply for next year and gestures as he speaks, pulling off chunks of cotton candy when he remembers to breathe. The explanation starts simple enough until he goes deep enough that the story requires jargon. Josh starts off interested, then becomes absolutely perplexed by how rubies and pythons could be related. With his brain already set to a default of Scrambled, he can’t keep up anymore. While Chris is distracted, he sneaks a look.

He feels his heart splitting into warm, open petals and the core inside burns even warmer. Illuminated by a spinning carousel, Chris’ face is bright, its contours lined in white and planes glowing golden, glasses shining. His expressions range from focused to dreamy to excited, some of his hair has tipped out of place from the humidity. Backlit by the lights strung around them, his enthusiasm becomes more striking, more magnetizing, and Josh is enraptured, entranced, and enchanted.

Up until something poke his nose.  

Chris is tickling it with their remaining tufts of cotton candy. He pulls back (how close had he gotten?) and rubs at his face.

“If I threw a pop quiz on what I just said,” Chris asks, “how do you think you would do?”

“I’d ace it,” Josh says casually.

“Hmmm. Dunno about that, but you’d definitely ace a test in staring at nothing.”

Josh curls his lips, tilting his head. “I wasn’t staring at nothing.”

“You...weren’t.”

“I was not.”

“Oh. O...kay.” Chris nods once experimentally, nods more and blushes while becoming interested in a passing ride.

Josh pulls off the last puff of cotton candy and lets it melt over his tongue.  

A little more walking, and they hit the line for the ferris wheel.

They gaze up at it, watching multicoloured patterns jump and swirl across the spokes, and that’s when they stop talking.

The line moves at a reasonable pace, the wheel creaks around and around. Josh’s skin wavers as Chris presses to his side, a solid form yet definitely soft against him. Not like there wasn’t a crowd around them waiting to get on, gravitating towards the wheel like moths and hoping to squeeze into a better section of the queue. They had to keep their spots. Not like the night wasn’t becoming cooler. Chris only has two thin layers on (did...did he do that on purpose?).

Excuses, excuses.

“Two tickets?” asks the ferris wheel operator, when they step up to the booth.

“Yep,” Josh says, pushing Chris’ hand away when he waves his wallet in his face. “Two tickets.”

A few more minutes, and they step into a capsule to sit across from each other. When the doors close and they lift into the air, the sounds of the fair fold into a cotton murmur, tucking into the crooks of their ears. It’s a comfortable quiet, the kind that pockets you when you submerge yourself underwater.

Before Josh lets himself settle against the curved back of their bubble, he notices that Chris hasn’t relaxed, choosing rather to wring his hands before bringing one of them up to his jacket to tease the aglets between his fingers. His eyes zero in on some miniscule detail outside. With the Pikachu beside him, its face oblivious to its seat mate’ condition, he looks like the hapless lead in a movie who wants to spill the news to his…

...to his _date_.   

The capsule stops at the halfway point.  

“Hey,” Josh says. God, why is his throat so dry?

“Y-Yeah?” Chris says. Man, they are both _parched_ up here. Altitude and all that. You know.

“You scared, Cochise?”

Chris pauses, eyes narrowing before they open wide. He glances at the spot beside him. “Uh. Maybe a little.”  

“Okay.” He gets up just as the capsule starts moving again, and the jolt sends him reeling forward. His arms fly out to right himself and his hands smack glass and—

Holy shit. _Holy. Shit_.

His hands landed on the back of Chris’ side of the capsule, palms sliding. Between his outstretched arms is Chris, his own hands up against Josh’s chest to stop him from toppling, his fingertips _just_ touching the spot where shirt collar meets open skin. When he exhales, Chris’ fingers press hot into him. Their noses are near touching.  

Josh wonders if Hannah fulfilled some kind of stupid rom-com ritual at home. Is she cackling in a circle of candles while swirling goat blood in a chalice? Because it sure as hell worked.

And you know what else?

Chris’ eyes are such a clear, clear blue. Like blue ice, like those Icelandic lagoons, and like that goddamn sea salt ice cream. And he has a lot of little moles, and things that look like freckles, and Josh wants to fling himself off the ferris wheel right now that would great yes let’s do it!

Their pose lasts for all of five seconds before Josh tosses the Pikachu to his empty seat and throws himself down beside Chris, his back hitting the right corner of the capsule harder than he’d anticipated (he bites on his tongue as a sharp pain radiates into his shoulders).

Josh can’t bring himself to do anything more than clear his throat as the ferris wheel swivels to the top. Chris rearranges the plushies so that they’re sitting straight, seeing as when Josh had flung the Pikachu it’d barreled into the cat and left them in a heap.   

At the top of the ferris wheel, the whole park comes into view, a tangled garden of lights and spinning machines and colourful tents. Past the grounds sits the parking lot, burgeoning with shadows that occasionally glisten like coins. Beyond that is sleepy Costa Mesa, not much of it visible in the night except for streetlamps.

The ferris wheel goes down, they pass the queue.

At the 9 o’clock position, Chris squirms before he sits forward and prod’s Josh’s knee to get his attention. Josh darts his eyes towards him.

“Did you do that on purpose?” Chris asks.

“Do what? Try to get a concussion and bleed out all over you?”

“Yeah. That.”

“Oh, for sure. S’what happens when I hear the same song ten times in a row.”

“Stuff down there’s definitely not great.”

“So, are you feeling better?”

“Better?”

“Less scared.”

“I think I’m okay.”

“...Yeah?”

“Maybe.”

“Didn’t think you’d be a chicken shit about heights.”

“Me neither.”

Quiet again, as they roll over the top of the wheel.

“Y’know, I kind of feel like we’re being held hostage,” Chris says, resting against the glass and gesturing the plushies on the other seat.

They do look ominous, sitting rigid with their empty faces. Josh locks eyes with the bread cat; his mouth quirks to the side. Nudging Chris’ arm, he says, “I think they could be _purr_ -suaded to keep us alive.”

Chris perks up, face brightening. “We just have to stay _paw_ -sitive, right?”

“Or I could tell Pikachu to Pika- _choose_ you instead of me.”

“Why is it that the only time you actually say Pikachu properly is whenever you’re being a dick to me?”

“Aw. You know I’m only kitten around, right?”

Chris shoots him a serious, accusatory expression, his brows furrowed and his head tilted back. He says, sharply, “Right meow? It’s hard to tell.”

Josh stares at him, chewing on his lip to keep a straight expression.

Chris does the same, nearing his own breaking point the more Josh wavers.

Holding it, holding it.

“ _Meow_ ,” Josh says.  

Chris squeaks, and that’s it: they both collapse into laughter.

Josh assumes that anybody who sees them when they pass by the queue again must think their capsule is filled with laughing gas, what with how they’re nearly sliding off the seats and wiping tears from their eyes. Stopping isn’t an option; whenever they get close, just the barest eye contact makes them lose it again.

“It wasn’t even that funny!” Josh manages to say. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Can’t talk, lungs popped,” Chris wheezes, and he loses it again.

“Shut up,” Josh says, grinning.

“No, you.”

“I’m not the one doing a Witch of the West impression.”

“Pfft, I’m not!”

“You totally are, dude!”

“It’s your fault!”

Okay, he takes full responsibility. Full responsibility for this very not-Witch-of-the-West impression. It’s actually stupid adorable when Chris truly starts laughing; he’s loud, he cries, and he can’t stay still. It takes one full revolution of the ferris wheel for him to stop, Josh’s half-hearted pleas proving useless. He can’t do much except shake his head and resign himself to sightseeing.

Slumping low against the seat and rubbing his eyes with his sleeve, Chris lets out a final giggle before he settles and gazes at Josh, resting one hand on his stomach and the other over his forehead. He has on a dreamy smile, maybe a little tight at the edges. Their thighs press against each other. They’re still.  

Josh swallows.     

Even though the capsule has AC, he feels his breath going shallow, sliced over and over into slivers with each inhale and exhale. Maybe these capsules also double as death traps, thinning out the air as the wheel turns. Not the worst place to die, but he still hasn’t made his will. Could use his phone to record his last breaths. So _tragic_. Now that’d be a movie finish. Hannah would regret her satanic transgressions for sure.

...That’s not the kind of script he needs right now.

Okay Josh. Ready and...action.

“Need a hand?” Josh asks.   

“That’d be nice,” Chris says, moving his foot so that it aligns with Josh’s, tapping them together.

He raises his hand for a high-five.

Chris clicks his tongue and smacks Josh’s side.  

“That’s the thanks I get? Physical violence? I expected better from you, Cochise,” Josh says.

The wheel stops at the halfway point.

Chris’ lips part for a moment, close, crumple.

“What’s the matter?”

“Hand.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

He could reach for Chris’ right hand and yank him up. One more spin on the ferris wheel. They could sit there, maybe talk more shit, laugh or something. Ride over, they get off. Night’s over. Back to L.A. they go. Josh could drop Chris off at his house, cruise back to his own using the long way. He could put on a movie and bores holes into the ceiling with his eyes. Have a drink. Fall asleep at 3am. Wake up and do more of the same thing.

Josh takes a deep breath. No. Not today.

New reel.

He slips his fingers under Chris’ left hand, curls them, presses his thumb against round knuckles. The palm over his is soft and warm and he squeezes it. Chris mimics him. Gently, Josh pulls him back into a seated position.

He doesn’t let go.

He places their hands between them, studies the way they fit together.

Chris doesn’t say anything. He also doesn’t pull away. His eyes are downward, too, as he wiggles his fingers, brushes his thumb over Josh’s fingers.

They don’t move any closer. Josh pays no mind, taking in the heat coursing up from his hand into his arm and through his chest and arrowing through his heart, puncturing it over and over until it unfolds at the seams. He follows the path down again, chest, arm, wrist, hand, and goes back up the alternate route. Hand, wrist, arm, chest, and he meets Chris’ eyes, wondering if he feels it, too. While his expression seems somewhat indecipherable, there's something soft there, too, something affectionate and warm like the summer sky over a field. 

The ferris wheel goes around one last time.

For one minute, Josh forgets what the world looks like.  

*

It’s well past midnight when they arrive home from the fair.

Chris yawns loudly as they walk up to the porch, his steps clumsy and uncertain; he’d fallen asleep a few minutes after they’d left and woke up just as they pulled into his driveway. Josh takes the opportunity to grab the back of his arm and lead him up; they press close together (although when Josh blows in his ear, Chris whines and wriggles away).  

Now they’re standing by the door.

Chris rubs the toe of his shoe against the welcome mat, smiling softly. “So.”

“So,” Josh echoes, swinging his arms.

“That was fun.”

“It was.”

“Are we...gonna do something like that again?”

“I’m sure something can be arranged.”

Chris nods a few times, looking a little uncertain. “Good. That’s. Definitely good.”

“Hope so.”

“Well. Anyway,” Chris says, squeezing his Pikachu’s ears. His face seems to become redder as his hands tighten and he adds, quickly, “G’night Josh.”

“Night, br—”

Chris is inside and shutting the door before he can even finish. The foyer lights don’t go on.

Josh stands there, blinking. The door locks. It’s still dark inside. He blinks again. And then he jumps off the top step of the porch and makes for his car, tingling all the while.

On the way back home into the hills he drives with the windows down, letting the wind sift through him and carry away the heat. He’s got on just about the dopiest smile right now, his body subliming into clouds and pillowing round his vibrating heart.

When he pulls into the driveway, he checks his phone.

> Hartbreaker: lemme know when ur home o/

He types one-handed as he carries his cat to the door.

> Josh: heeeeeres JOHNNY  
> 
> Hartbreaker: i said lemme know when ur home
> 
> Hartbreaker: not when ur about to axe murder me
> 
> Hartbreaker: anyway, ur home sooo  
> 
> Josh: yep
> 
> Hartbreaker: Pikachu says gnight! [image attached]

It’s a picture of the Pikachu sitting on the shelf behind the top of Chris’ bed, surrounded by other tiny Pokemon. Chris is there, too, peeking in with a smile.

He sends a reply and turns up to a sky that’s plain as a black blanket.

The sky is clear, and so is he.

(And, cut).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Josh's prize](http://img.amiami.jp/images/product/main/173/GOODS-00163724.jpg), because you absolutely need to know that it's real


	4. Chapter 4

When Josh wakes up, a question spirals open in his head and presses against him. It fills up every space in his body right down to the capillaries in his fingertips.   

How did he not do this sooner?

His heart, slowed by sleep, trembles to life.

Working the heaviness from his limbs, he ambles over to his window and opens it, taking in the breeze passing through the hills. The sun sits below the city, peeking between the skyscrapers and adding dashes of warm pastel to a pale blue sky. He closes his eyes and breathes. Wow. Who the hell is he right now with this Audrey Hepburn bullshit, sighing at the window. Gross. He rubs his hands through his hair and drags them down his face, grumbling to himself. (And yet he stays there for a few more minutes before moving).   

It’s 7AM and he has the house to himself and he’s grateful for that. Nobody needs to see him in this state. Willingly eating breakfast. Rinsing his dishes as he finishes with them. Looking more awake than not at all. Smiling into the air like an idiot. God. Just wait for the musical number.

It’s the kind of exhilaration that comes from jumping across stones over a stream. There he is now, one stone in, the solidity of the bank behind him. But he has footing. Do microscopic pebbles count as footing?  

It’s not like anything had _really_ happened last night. Handholding? Pretty tame stuff. Anyone could do it. If you knew someone well and took their hand and they didn’t hate you and didn’t hate being touched, then suffice it to say they probably would hold yours back. Chris’ general reaction had been favourable and of that nature, but Josh hadn’t been able to glean any other details, plain as they’d been. He’d seen shock, nervousness, confusion. Delight? Mashed together, he can’t figure out what it all means. Too many possibilities. Not all of them good.  

Did it mean: _bro, I can’t believe this, I’ve wanted to do this, too, and I’m glad one of us had the guts to do it. Wow. Took us long enough._

Or, you know.

Something like: _bro, I can’t believe this, I’m glad we’ve reached that point of friendship that we can hold hands and it’s just that: holding hands. Wow. Thank you._

Or even: _bro, I can’t believe this, why are you doing this, this is weird, you’re being weird, but I’ll amuse you and maybe you’ll stop. Wow. I don’t like this._  

He frowns as he pads back up into his room and falls face-first onto his bed. Positive thoughts, Josh. You don’t know anything yet. He shifts around until he fits into the spot in which he’d woken up, stomach taking in the residual heat. From here he spots a fuzzy lump on his desk. Rolling towards it, he extends one arm and flails it around until he makes contact. With one firm tug, the bread cat tumbles onto his head. He matches its vacant stare as he returns to his original position on the bed and holds out the plushie before him.    

“You’re still freakin’ weird,” he says to it. “But he picked you, so maybe you know something. What’s his deal?”  

Ah yes, that stage of desperation where you hold conversations with inanimate objects. Nice. Anyway, it doesn’t answer him.

He drops the cat when butterflies invade his stomach. It’d be nice to get _some_ semblance of a response.

A spot by his pillow vibrates. Slipping his hand underneath, he finds his phone.  

Oh.

He observes the notification for a few seconds before opening it to investigate.

 

 

> Hartbreaker: bromeo, bromeo, wherefore art thou bromeo

Sent only a few minutes ago. He scoffs, smushing his face into his blanket as he types out a reply.

 

 

> Josh: hey benbrolio wherefore means why not where
> 
> Hartbreaker: -_- i know
> 
> Josh: and i feel more like a mercutibro u know?
> 
> Hartbreaker: nah
> 
> Josh: well i don’t have a juliet
> 
> Hartbreaker: …..i see
> 
> Josh: jk i do look

He sends an image of himself kissing the bread cat on the cheek (he’d meant to send it last night).

 

> Hartbreaker: she’s beautiful. congrats
> 
> Josh: curves in all the right places and the most luscious crust
> 
> Hartbreaker: No
> 
> Josh: she’s gorgeous af don’t be rude
> 
> Josh: btw how are u awake rn wtf
> 
> Hartbreaker: idk… couldn’t sleep??
> 
> Josh: food poisoning? lmaooo
> 
> Hartbreaker: lol mmm maybeee
> 
> Hartbreaker: ………….ok anyway
> 
> Hartbreaker: are you
> 
> Josh: …..am i what
> 
> Hartbreaker: srry i sent that too fast um
> 
> Hartbreaker: are you busy Monday?
> 
> Hartbreaker: like i know you gotta start packing and all that so
> 
> Hartbreaker: well idk
> 
> Hartbreaker: are you?
> 
> Josh: nah i won’t be busy
> 
> Josh: what’d u have in mind?
> 
> Hartbreaker: well i thought it’d be cool if before you left we like
> 
> Hartbreaker: did our own small camping thing
> 
> Josh: ok ur awake at like 8am and u wanna go outside
> 
> Josh: what have u done with chris  
> 
> Hartbreaker: i assure u it is the real me
> 
> Hartbreaker: and i’m not a body snatcher
> 
> Josh: sounds like what a body snatcher would say
> 
> Josh: where do u wanna dump my corpse, not-Chris?
> 
> Hartbreaker: matador state?
> 
> Josh: u can’t camp there dude
> 
> Hartbreaker: ok more like staying out late in the unforgiving wilderness to ummmm
> 
> Hartbreaker: we need to Talk….. ??  

He pauses when he reads that, panic flitting across his stomach. Sorry, what? But he can’t break pace.

> Josh: i see  
> 
> Josh: i can dig it
> 
> Hartbreaker: i’ll come get you at 5 or so??
> 
> Josh: works for me
> 
> Hartbreaker: cool!! cool.
> 
> Josh: so what’re we Talking about
> 
> Hartbreaker: mmm stuff
> 
> Josh: stuff
> 
> Hartbreaker: stuff that we should’ve gone over a while ago that kinda stuff
> 
> Josh: ok
> 
> Hartbreaker: yeah. well
> 
> Hartbreaker: anyway i’m gonna try and get some more Zs
> 
> Hartbreaker: wish me luck
> 
> Josh: hope the beauty sleep works bc u need it
> 
> Hartbreaker: :’((((
> 
> Hartbreaker: byeeee
> 
> Josh: l8r

*

Okay. Okay, well.

He lets out a slow breath.

Lets the words settle in his brain.

It doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. Not really.

He has to give him props for the location.  

If you’re going to let a guy down easy, might as well make sure there’s something to distract him after you do the deed, right? What better than a giant ocean to wash away all your hopes and dreams, swallow them all up like a soft-toothed creature and leave nothing behind except for foamy bones in the sand? Those will melt, and the sand will dry.  

Right.

Camping out to have a ‘Talk.’ Capital T. To talk about Stuff. What else could that mean other than a scheduled appointment to announce: ‘sorry dude, I’m just not into you and I thought you knew that?’ Weren’t you supposed to do that in a public place? At least Chris considered him level-headed enough to take the news one-on-one. Thank you, Chris. How nice of you.

Sigh.

So that’s really all he is. The Best Friend. The Bro. The guy you can play around with and whose hand you can hold with no consequences. He should’ve known better than to think he had a chance. Chris was too nice to let someone down during a moment of vulnerability. It explained why he’d entertained Josh’s attempts, why he’d appeared embarrassed at times. Look at it this way, though. He is, for once, being quick on the uptake. Ask for one miracle, get another. Whatever. Life works that way sometimes.

How long had Chris _known_? Why had he never said anything? Granted, this was probably one of the few topics they’d never explored in their years…   

Had he been obvious? Did Chris think he was pathetic to hang on this long?

Josh stares at the ceiling as he presses his head back into his bed, waiting for it to engulf him. It doesn’t work; he rolls out of bed and grabs his laptop from his desk and throws it onto his sheets. He needs something obnoxious and revolting. Before he can come up with a list of movies to ride out his disappointment, his phone rings. The Katamari Damacy theme song starts playing. He freezes, slowly relaxes. Chris had probably changed it a few weeks back. The sting is immediate. He flops onto his back, checks the caller, and answers.

“Don’t you know how to text like a normal human being?” he deadpans. “This isn’t 1850 anymore, Sammy. And it may shock you to know that I’m literate.”  

“Good morning to you, too,” says Sam.

“What’s the occasion for rousing me from my slumber?”

He hears a sharp exhale of a laugh. “You. Still sleeping. At 8.”

“It’s more likely than you think.”

She sounds perplexed. “No, I don’t think so.”

“No, Sam, it’s a—okay, nevermind. What’s up?”

“Was wondering if you were available to go over our itinerary and packing list. We’re leaving soon, so I thought we should do a check now and then one more time before we leave. Can never be too sure, right?”

“You know, I think they have stores in Vancouver. And you can buy things there if you need them,” Josh says, running his thumb over his cuticles as he stares at his hand.

“Yes,” Sam says. “But I’d rather not if we don’t need to.”

“You mean you _don’t_ want a souvenir can of baked beans?”

“We are _not_ eating baked beans.”

“Oh, agreed. They’re garbage.”

“And if you’re bringing anything meat-based: that’s your responsibility, as I’m sure you know.”

He stretches one arm over his head, tucks his phone between his cheek and shoulder, and reaches up to stretch with his other arm. “I know. I’ll make sure to face away from you while I’m surrendering to my carnivore desires.”

“How very thoughtful of you,” Sam says.

“Thank you, Sammy. I do try.”

“Mmhm…”

“I sense a bit of hesitation there.”

“Just get over here already, will you?”

“Yup. Be there in twenty.”

Josh slumps hard into his pillow as he hangs up. A minute passes before he wills himself to stand up. It feels more like a long, viscous hour.  

*

Fifteen minutes later, he appears on Sam’s doorstep with a breakfast bar in his mouth, gear stuffed crudely in his pack with the excess in his arms. He still has on the sweatpants he wore to bed, although he did have the decency to put on a different shirt. Can’t look like _that_ much of a wreck.  

Sam doesn’t seem to notice as she welcomes him inside and leads the way to her room. She seems more interested in (or disgusted by) his ability to eat a breakfast bar hands-free. He tries not to notice the fact that she’s wearing one of Beth’s sweatshirts, a worn out thing from high school field hockey. In his own closet he has plenty of Chris’ shirts, hoodies, cardigans; he’ll have to give them up. Such a simple revelation, and yet it seeps into him down to the bone.

Her things are organized by function and size, forming a rough grid across the floor. Chris does the same thing when he packs, and let’s stop thinking about Chris.

“So, how was Friday night?” Sam asks, just as Josh begins dumping his things out. He’d forgotten about the small pan he’d shoved to the bottom; it clangs loudly against the floor.

God dammit. “It happened, I guess,” he says, crouching across from Sam as they work on his sorting his gear.  

“It _happened_?” Sam says, her eyes round. She touches his arm.   

He puts on a casual smile, holding back the tightness vying for his muscles. “No, I mean. It happened. Friday night was a thing that happened.”

“Ohh, so you’re still lying low.”

“It just...didn’t feel right, you know?”

Sam nods. “I know what you mean. Well, you’ll have other chances.”

“I guess,” he says, clamping down a bitter laugh. He forces himself to relax, pretending to be frustrated with a bag closed with twist ties.

“I have to say, though...Friday night at a county fair? That was kind of perfect.”

Josh clicks his tongue. “I should get a refund from you guys. Followed your program and it got me jack.”

“Even the ferris wheel? Wow. I thought for sure that would work,” Sam says, her brows raised as she pushes a pile of socks to one corner.  

“Nope,” Josh says, grabbing a notebook and pen from Sam’s desk.

“My God. How long can you guys keep this up?”

He starts charting as he asks, “You ever hear of the Dancing Plague?”

“The _what_?”

“‘Kay, so, back in the 16th century, there was this European town where a bunch of people started...dancing. And they wouldn’t, couldn’t stop. It went on for days. People _died_. Nobody really knows what the hell happened, but it was corroborated by a bunch of docs and all that. It was real.”

“Okay...that was creepy. Were you going somewhere with that?”

“Well, I dunno about you-know-who,” and he stops writing with a flourish of his pen to point at himself,  “but _I_ can keep dancing.”

“Until you die?”

“Sure. Until I die.” He makes a sharp line in his chart.

“I can’t say I’d recommend that,” Sam says.

“S’good thing you’re not a doctor, because you dunno how to prescribe for _shit_.”

Sam tosses a sock at him. “I think I’m doing okay.”

“If I’m the patient, then I get a say. And I say: you dunno how to to prescribe for shit.” He tosses the sock back.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, “did you just say you wanted to have tofu scramble for five days in a row?”

Josh smirks. “Joke’s on you. I _like_ tofu scramble now.”

“You almost threw up the last time you had it.”  

“Yes. That is true. It’s what happens when you don’t use seasoning.”

“That was absolutely _not_ why you didn’t like it!”

He has to stop writing so he can chuckle. “It absolutely was, Sam. Sorry not sorry.”

“Well…I’ll come up with something else,” Sam says, setting her mouth to one side.  

“You can come up with whatever you like. One way or another...I’m going to be the carnist of your nightmares. Wait, is it carnist or bloodmouth?”

“Please stop talking, Josh.”

“Bloodmouth sounds way more fucking sick.”

Sam sits back and gives him a tired look.

He leans forward and beams. “Sam, you do realize that you’re stuck with me for two weeks, right? Two whole weeks? Beth and Hannah won’t be there to save you.”

“I realize that. And I regret it every single day,” Sam says. She fails to bring any seriousness to her words.  

“I _promise_ I’ll behave. For at least half the time.”

“I can only hope that those times coincide with when we’re setting up the caches?”

“Hey, don’t push it. I’ll do what I can,” Josh says. “For example, I can start a mean as shit cooking fire.”

Sam sets down a thermal shirt after folding it. “I am _well_ aware of that.”

“For real. I’m not talking about the Grade 8 BBQ, although that _was_ pretty cool.”

“Not so much a cooking fire as it was an extremely unsanctioned bonfire in the parking lot. You’re lucky you did that before the event actually started.”

“Can you believe they didn’t kick my ass out for that?”

Sam clicks her tongue and shakes her head. “Still can’t believe it.”

“That was around the time I started binge-watching acting tutorials on Youtube, ‘member? S’probably what saved me.”

“Oh, I definitely remember…” Sam says, raising one brow, “...being _extremely_ embarrassed for you whenever you started with that stuff.”

“Sam. Please.”

“Someone has to keep you in check.”

“Honestly, that is a fate worse than tofu scramble. And I’m sure you know that there are already two little demons doing that job just fine. Don’t need a third.”

“I guess it’s my turn to say that _you’re_ stuck with _me_ for two weeks,” Sam says.  

“Oh God,” Josh groans, slumping against Sam’s bed. “The bear doesn’t need to come to me; I’ll go to it myself.”

“Rude, much?” Sam says.  

He lifts his head and grins at her. “Goes with the territory.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.”

“Okay, no,” he says, leaning forward and putting his chin in his hand, “we’re gonna have a great time. If I had to choose somebody to Bear Grylls it with in the wild, it’d be you. ...No hetero.”

“Oh my _God_.” Sam laughs, imitating his gesture. “I know we’re going into the backcountry, but we’re trying to _avoid_ the survivalist thing.”

“Never know. Maybe we’ll get attacked by elk. Can never trust them. Then we’ll have to sleep in a moose carcass.”

Sam stares.

“What? You’ve _never_ thought of that before? Live a little, Sam. Widen your horizons.”

“I don’t say this often, but I think I’d rather be willfully ignorant on this.”

“More leg room for me. Sweet.”

Sam scrunches her face while reaching for Josh’s chart. She hums, expression turning to surprise as she says, “Oh. I forgot how nice your notes are.”

“I will accept that as a compliment.”

“Just haven’t seen them for a while is all,” she says, keeping her eyes on the paper. “Okay, we’re looking good.”

“Turn the page,” Josh says, twirling his index finger in a circle.

She obliges him, makes a hum of approval. “My stuff, too. I appreciate your thoroughness.”

“Thank you. I feel sufficiently appreciated.”

“You should pass on the feeling,” Sam says, adding her own notes in the margins.

“Haven’t I lavished you with enough praise?”

“Tsk.”

“What?”

“Not to _me_.” Sam has on a knowing expression.  

Josh lolls his head back and groans. “We already went over this. He wasn’t having it.”

“That’s not what you said. You said you didn’t go through with the plan.”

He takes care to deliver his words at an even pace. As if he’d mulled it over and decided on a reason, rather than scrambled to think of something to tide her over. “That was part of why I didn’t do anything.”  

“Ah. I’d thought you meant earlier that you didn’t feel comfortable.”

“That was _another_ part of why I didn’t do anything.” Another part in a wheel of parts coming together to make a kaleidoscope of shit.  

“Bummer. Maybe he was confused?”

“S’not like I could ask him.” Sam furrows her brows. He adds, “Alright, I _could_ have but then that _could_ have fucked with the rest of the night. I mean, other than that, it was a good time.”

“And a Josh having a good time is a happy Josh.”

He points at her. “You got it, girl.”

“Did you at least get a prize?”

“Check it.” Josh digs out his phone and shows her a picture of the bread cat. “And I nabbed him this thing for his shrine.” He swipes to the picture Chris sent last night.

Sam breathes out heavily into a smile. “You two are just...gah. You’re killing me here, Josh.”

“You think _you’re_ being killed?” Truthfully, he’s moved into desiccated corpse territory by now.

“It’s all on your behalf. I guess we’ll see what happens when everyone goes after we get back.”

Sure, Sam. “Not if I get skewered by an elk first.”

“You’re not getting skewered.”

“Torn in half by a bear.”

“Oh my God…”

“You ever seen _Backcountry_?”

“I’ve seen backcountry before. Bears really aren’t that com—”

Josh waves her words away. “No, Sam. I mean _Backcountry_...the movie. Canadian flick?”

Her interest evaporates and she goes back to sorting. “Nope, and I don’t want to.”

“And miss one of all time best kills by nature? Come on. It’d be so fitting. Let’s get into the camping spirit.”

“ _Fitting_?”

“I did say I was going to get torn in half by a bear. You gotta see it, Sam. It’s fucking brutal. And still on Netflix.”

Sam doesn’t seem convinced.

“Okay, okay, it’s not all about that scene. It’s a pretty decent suspense thriller, too. You like thrillers. And it takes place in the Great Outdoors,” Josh says. “S’like _Planet Earth,_ but more bloody.” He nods and smiles before quickly throwing in a, “ _Tastefully_ bloody.”

“When I hear the word ‘tasteful’ coming from you, I can expect that what I’m about to see is the complete opposite.”

“ _No_ Sam, please, I’m serious. Just give it a chance. There is so much scenery porn.”

“Scenery porn.”

“Beautiful trees. Mountains. You know. The stuff that gets you hot and sweaty.”

“Are you going to keep this up until I agree to watch the movie?”

“Who said that?” Josh asks, putting on the most bewildered face he can muster.

Sam sighs and retrieves her laptop from her desk, propping it open on her bed so that they can both see it from their spots on the floor. Josh does the rest, making sure to add a slew of horror to her queue as she turns away to find their itinerary notes. Tasteful horror, of course.  

“I’m not going to be pleased with you in an hour,” Sam says, as she puts oatmeal packets into ziploc bags. “I can feel it.”   

Josh laughs through his nose. “That is absolutely baseless and you know it.”

He presses play.  

An hour later, Sam is most certainly not pleased with him, clapping the laptop closed and ignoring Josh’s protests of ‘it’s a one minute scene, Sam!’ and ‘you despised that guy!’ Some people don’t know how to appreciate the artistry of special effects. At least she allows him to share trivia about the making of the movie. Small victories.   

She forces him to skip to the end of the movie so she can verify what happens, nodding in satisfaction as the credits start rolling. And then she makes him put on an episode of _Planet Earth_.

Josh frowns.

Now he has to think.  

His thoughts drift over the maps Sam pulls out from under her bed, tumbling over the topographical lines as he pictures the mountains rising underneath them. They barely hold their shape as they roll over the imaginary crags.  

There goes his script, down into a crevasse. Down, down…    

Wait.

He suspends its descent.   

He doesn’t know when it will hit the bottom. Why not speed up the process?

As they pinpoint trails on the maps and test out a GPS, Josh sets his mind to work.

Every script needs multiple drafts, for better or for worse.  

*

After he leaves Sam’s place, his productivity goes to near zero. He would’ve liked to stay longer, but of course she has plans with Beth. She hitches a ride with him.

“Trading out one Washington for the next,” he says. “I thought what we had was special?”

“Clearly not that special,” Sam says.

“That is honestly so hurtful.”

“You’ve got your own blondie to worry about, Josh. Don’t worry about me.”

“True,” he says. Oh, Sam, if only you knew. Luckily, he gets himself to ask about her plans before he can bite a hole into his cheek. While both routes would have the same effect of letting him go silent, he doesn’t think Sam would appreciate the sight of his mouth flooding with blood.

The thought makes him laugh, and that moment probably represents the peak of his day.

The rest of the day is a write-off.

His sketchbook lies open with a collection of starts and stops and scribbled out title cards for his dad’s movie. Even the most ridiculous gore flick can’t keep him for more than a half hour. Restlessness takes over him, roving through him like a bundle of worms.

He ends up making his way down to Santa Monica, taking his time and nestling himself in the whirlwind of noise, venturing onto the pier and rewriting Friday in his mind. No nonsense, no feelings. Just a regular hangout. A bro’s night out. From a distance the ferris wheel resembles a magnifying glass, daring him to come closer, distort beneath its enormous eye. He keeps to its outer edge, wary.

The heat soaks into him and melts his thoughts, and for once he’s grateful for the relentlessness of a summer afternoon in L.A..  

It’s not until evening that he returns home, the hours trudging past while he huddles by the window and smokes the night away, nerves finally softening as he slips into a high.

He has a plan.  

*

Waiting until noon to shoot off a message has never been so difficult. To keep himself collected, he tangles himself in his sheets and Sunday drowsiness and goes through a slew of horror comics and the first thirty minutes from three different movies.

*

 

> Josh: heya
> 
> Hartbreaker: greetings \o/
> 
> Hartbreaker: what’s buzzin?
> 
> Josh: so can we skip the beach thing?
> 
> Josh: can i just like come to ur house
> 
> Hartbreaker: oh la la
> 
> Josh: tonight?
> 
> Hartbreaker: oh wow uh
> 
> Hartbreaker: well I’ll be out until like 8
> 
> Hartbreaker: but that’s fine
> 
> Josh: i’ll swing by around 9 then?
> 
> Hartbreaker: ok!
> 
> Josh: i’m ruining your body snatching plans, srry
> 
> Hartbreaker: meh, there’ll be other chances :)
> 
> Hartbreaker: i don’t mind
> 
> Josh: ok cool well
> 
> Josh: o/
> 
> Hartbreaker: \o!  

*

He stares at himself in the mirror while getting ready to leave, trying to forget that only two goddamn days ago he’d done the exact same thing with his heartbeat fluttering round his ribs. Now, it sits balled up in his chest, letting out a slow, dull thump. He gazes at himself until he no longer sees the distinct outline of his body.

Around 8:30pm, he starts walking to Chris’ house, throwing on a light hoodie and jamming his hands into his pockets. He sets a quick pace for himself, walking on the street rather than the sidewalk. Whenever the street becomes empty and he can’t spot incoming lights, he angles himself towards the centre.    

While the sky is a faded pink, it’s a cool night. Cooler than two nights ago. No more layers of heat to remove or second skins of sweat. No wind. Only the distant growl of cars, the occasional airplane sailing overhead, and his own breathing.

The sound fills the canals of his ears with the breathiness of an iron lung. He shakes his head and rubs a hand over his face, pressing blurriness into his eyes. His vision clears, and he finds himself still ambling along the street, lamps awaiting his advance. While the periodic swathe of palm trees he encounters stand tall above him like long-necked sentinels, the shorter, fuller trees do a fine job of interfering with the lamplight, laying down strange shadows across the asphalt. He traces their outlines with his feet, losing himself in the patterns.

He has a vague idea of what he wants to say, but it has a cotton candy fragility about it. It’s soft and formless, dissolves when he puts it into his mouth.  

Is anything going to happen to…? Does this change…? Are we still…?

Unable to grasp onto anything, he decides to move for something that won’t conspire with his nerves against him. He doesn’t have to arrive at Chris’ house with the disposition of a wounded dog.  

So:

Chris, his best friend and huge goddamn crush for [a length of time we’re not going to discuss right now], had held his goddamn hand. For longer than ten seconds. Forget that. For longer than _any_ seconds, on a summery night at a county fair. On. A. Ferris wheel.

And it was amazing. The kind of scene that begged for a slow-mo shot glittering with bokeh.

Of course, they’d had accidental touches and on purpose touches. Even though Chris had only been appeasing him, he would still give it the number one spot on the list. Corny as hell, and he chastises himself for it. Those rom-com movie nights had rubbed off on him in the worst way.

The pressure of Chris’ hand in his returns to him, the splash of shimmering lights hovering around them as the ferris wheel turned.

As the wheel turns, he sinks.

If only he hadn’t been such a coward and said something then and there.

Not even that.

If only he hadn’t been so stupid to think that something would come of this.

They’d been around each other for this long, he’d sent out signs—and they were damn good signs if he had anything to say about it, okay, they were—and he’d never gotten a real response. Nothing except for embarrassment and confusion. And then he’d gone and done this and forced Chris into a bad spot.  

Well, he created this shitshow. He could fix it, right? Cobble together whatever pieces were left after this, tailor a new script with new dialogue and new scenes, change up the roles, smooth out the creases. This is his specialty. This is what he does.

Everything’s under control.

“Well well well, fancy seeing you out here at this hour.”

He almost trips, heart rippling in his chest. It takes him a moment to process his surroundings. A street comes into focus, trees, the shapes of houses. He’s not too far from his destination.

“Dude. Over here.”

There, raising a hand at him from the sidewalk, is Chris.

“Huh,” Josh says, leaning his weight onto one leg. “Standing around in the dark menacingly is my job, last I checked.”

“I don’t look menacing, do I?” Chris asks, crossing over a lawn onto the street.     

“You look absolutely terrifying,” Josh says. He means it. He was supposed to have at least twenty more minutes to himself and he feels disarmed as they scatter away from him.

Chris scuffs his shoe against the asphalt, unaware. “Aw man.”

Well, the show must go on. “Truly revolting,” Josh adds, circling him and prodding his shoulder.  

“Okay.”

A poke to the head. “A hundred percent—”

“Alright, I _think_ I get the idea,” Chris says, stumbling away from Josh’s next attack.      

Josh pulls back with a lazy shrug. “I’m only getting warmed up. I’m ready to rage, bro.”

“Despite my chiseled visage…” Chris uses one hand to display himself, “I am in fact a very,  _very_ fragile flower. Please be nice.”  

“Not in my vocabulary.”

“Neither is using the sidewalk like a normal person, it seems.”

“Oh, it’s like that now, huh?”

“Like what?” Chris’ voice is light.  

“Don’t play dumb with me.”

Chris crosses his arms. “It’s summer break; I’ll be dumb if I want to.”

“Your excuse doesn’t cover the other seasons.”

“Oh. _Dude_.”

“I gave you proper warning. I said I was ready to rage.”

“Geez. You _really_ weren’t kidding.”

“I was not.”

“Are you gonna keep tearing me down in the middle of the street or can we take this somewhere else?”

“We’re in public, Cochise. This not risqué enough for you?”

“I was thinking somewhere the complete _opposite_ , actually. We’ll have to double back your way. C’mon.”

“Okay,” Josh says, letting Chris touch at his shoulder to turn him around. He tails behind for a few steps before he changes pace. Can’t he write a script in peace without any meddling?

They keep to the centre of the street, silent for block or two. While signs of activity come from other streets, their path is more akin to a suburban void, as if the houses around them were set pieces.

“How’d you know I was walking?” Josh asks, after a few minutes.

Chris shrugs, slipping his hands into the pouch of his hoodie. “Just had a feeling.”

“Enough of a feeling that it got you to leave your man cave. Impressive.”

Chris nudges him with his shoulder. “Hey. Stop that. No more raging.”  

“I’m in my element right now, bro.” He pivots so that he’s walking backwards, his chin lifted.  “You can’t stop me.”

“It’s not dark yet. The sky is still like, Instagrammable. What are you saying here? Were all those MCR albums for naught?”

“I thought we agreed to never bring that up.” (For real, not even in a jokey way). 

“Hey, I’m just rolling with the punches,” Chris says. “Am I not allowed to defend myself?”

“Nope.”

“And why not?” Chris tilts his head. 

“Because I’m older.”

“I refuse to take part in your _ageist_ antics.”

“Well that's too bad, huh?”

“Yeesh. So nippy tonight…” Chris grumbles, rubbing his arms. 

“Should’ve brought a seventh layer with you.”

“Would’ve been my _eleventh_ , actually,” Chris says primly.  

“Same difference,” Josh says, turning on his heel to align them side by side again.

“Can’t even count and he’s belittling other people. Have you no shame?”

“Days are getting darker, what can I say?”

“Yeah, but I’m walking right next to you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So?”

“ _So_ , there’s better things to look at than how many layers you’re wearing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yup. For example…” Josh steps at an angle into Chris’ way.

Chris doesn’t process the new obstacle in time, gasping as he stumbles right into Josh.

“For _example_...” Josh begins again, gently pushing Chris away, “...watching where I’m going.”

“You’re a health hazard,” Chris says. “I could’ve _died_.”

“You’re _that_ fragile, huh?”

“Like I said: very, very fragile.”

“Like your hair...” Josh says.

“My—?”

Not bothering to wait for a response, he darts his hand up to Chris’ head and flattens his hand against the unruly spikes, ruffling them for good measure. They’ve softened with the heat.

“Hey!” Chris exclaims, pushing him away. He uses the momentum to break into a run, going for a block before he slows.

He recognizes where they are, sees how the street ahead splits down the middle to accommodate a creek. A classic white fence hems it in, emphasizing the breadth of the trees and wild bushes that fill the space. With the lamps here dimmer, more sparse, the place is stranger than he remembers it. The leaves are silvery in the light, the creek hidden in a patchy darkness.

“‘Member this place?”

He glances over his shoulder.

As Chris comes to a stop he smiles, cards a hand through his hair. Clearly he’s worked the last of the gel out of it; he has to push it off his forehead in a short swoop.

Josh bites his lip, careful not to let his gaze linger. “How could I forget it?” he says. “Been a while, though.”

“Kinda creepy at this hour. We always left before the sun went down.”

“And then that old dude—”

“Oh God, I re _member_ that old dude—”

“Yeah, and do you remember what he said to us? I think that’s why we never came back.”

“Pfft, yeah. He said we’d probably get murdered by his neighbour down the street if we kept causing trouble down there.”

“We weren’t even doing shit. But let’s be real: he was probably the murderer.”

“Totally.”

“Yeah.”

“We _were_ doing shit, though. There’s gotta be a preserved bottle or two of beer that we left after he chased us out.”

“Nah, dude probably helped himself.”

Chris chuckles. “It was all part of his diabolical old man plan.”

“Eat shit, old man!” Josh says, and he hops over the fence.

Chris follows, taking it slower as he swings one leg over and treats the fence like a step stool.

Two concrete slopes lead the way down into the creek. They each claim one for themselves. Mysteriously unpaved, the creek is flanked by two dirt paths, these in turn flanked by short walls of granite brick that hold back the earth and the trees and the bushes. The birches appear skeletal in the shadows, peeking from behind frothing pistache trees. At the height of summer, their verdant leaves feel deeper than the dark. The noiselessness of the creek and its clear body, in conjunction with the heaviness of the foliage, only adds to the eerie sensation.  

It’d probably taken a lot of work to put them there, the bricks. It hadn’t taken a lot of work for two bored kids (and many other young wanderers, probably) to undo it. To be fair, the stones were there much earlier than them; it was long assumed that the idea of a beautification project had been shattered. Just like the bricks he and Chris would roll down from the uppermost sides of the creek, letting them tumble headlong into the walls to get them to split in half.

There’s still evidence of their activities: mangled slabs of granite blend in with the stones dotting the mottled water, stray bricks with missing chunks sit in the path.  

Maybe that old man had had a point.

Josh grins at the memory, strolling alongside the creek, snapping a dry branch from a tree and running it across the undergrowth. Chris follows from his side, fidgeting.

“Getting phone withdrawals?” he asks.

“Oh, pfft, yeah, for sure,” Chris replies, eyes darting from him to the creek to him to the trees.  

“What’s up?”

“Last I checked, the sky.”

“You’re gonna die tonight,” Josh deadpans, but he can only hold the grimace for a second. Chris is the only person who could ever get away with a joke like that, mostly because his delight is genuine.   

“I’m too young and handsome to die!” And a joke like this.

“That guarantees it, dude.”

“Oh right. That’s like, horror movie rule #1. Crap.”

“Nice knowing you.”

“Man, I was gonna leave some stuff for you, but if you’re gonna be _that_ flippant about this…” Chris mutters. “Alright, I admit it: I’m hideous.”

“Huh. Looks like that thing stalking you in the bushes is gone.”

Chris actually checks over his shoulder. Josh, unnoticed, chucks his branch in the same direction. It lands loud in the bushes and Chris yelps before he realizes what happened.

Josh snorts, deflecting a shove. “How’d you fall for that?”

“Thought that was like, a flying snake or something. I don’t know!”

“A flying snake.”

“They’re _real_.”

“Not in L.A. they’re not.”  

“They could be. Y’never know.”  

Josh snickers, resumes walking. They pass under a tiny bridge, and on the other side come across a chunk of granite in the creek. He pushes at the submerged brick with his foot. It tips over onto its side.

Chris, from the other side of the creek, pushes it upright and a touch forward.

Josh tips it over again, also nudging it forward. They trade off like that for a few turns. More than a few, really, and he doesn’t know what kind of game Chris is playing. Say something, god dammit.

The trees around them, though scrawny, are numerous. Their leafy branches layer against each other, laying down shrouds. The muted glow from the street lights helps, peeking between the leaves enough times to light the way, but his vision is still a little clouded. He can’t make out much from Chris’ face, especially without eye contact.

It’s palpable, though, the nervousness. It’s in the way it takes Chris a few tries each time to catch his foot on the brick, the way he’s completely shut up instead of going a hundred miles a minute.

Josh sighs. It doesn’t need to get this difficult. He slides his foot in front of Chris’. Puts on a smile and crosses his arms. “Why are we here and not at your house?” he asks.

“H-Huh?” Chris stammers. He straightens out, features becoming clearer. His eyes widen. He’s smiling, too, in that wobbling sort of way when someone’s found you out.

“What’re you up to?” _Why are you dragging this out?_

“What d’you mean?” Chris asks, not at all convincing in his innocence.

He sighs. “Let’s just cut to the chase, dude.”

Chris' mouth opens, closes, his eyes go even rounder. “Oh!" He nods and nods, stiff. "Um. Okay. We can do that.” 

The creek creeps silently between them.

Josh watches, waits.

Chris swallows, watching just as closely.

Josh rubs the back of his neck, then lets his hand slide off and his shoulders go slack. He breathes, and he says, “So, I guess this isn’t going to work.”

There’s a pause. A car passes on a faraway street.   

“I’m…” Chris says, narrowing his eyes, shaking his head. He readjusts his posture. “I’m sorry?”

God, what didn’t he get? “Bro, look, I didn’t mean for it to turn out this way, and I feel like shit for—”

“You...didn’t," Chris says, slowly. 

“I didn’t.”

Chris’ brows knit together as he drops his gaze.

He drops his, too, tightens his jaw. “S’not gonna change things, ri—”

“So, Friday night.”

He meets Chris’ eyes, surprised by their sharpness.

“That was…” Chris continues, expression turning muddled. “What was that?”

Josh puts on a wry smile, spreads his hands. “Me being a dumbshit.”

“It was all...a joke?”

“If that helps: sure.”

“You’re not fucking with me right now, are you?”

“Okay, I know why you would think that, but I’m absolutely not fucking with you. This is real right now. I’m being real. I’m talking bro to bro here.”  

“Uh. Okay.”

“...Yeah.”

“I...Jesus Christ, I should’ve…” Chris starts to say. He stops, as if he expects Josh to step in. He looks hurt. 

“I'm sorry, man,” he says, because what else can he supply? He didn’t think Chris would take it this badly. Is it so terrible for your best friend to...?    

Chris gapes at him. “‘I'm sorry, man?’” he repeats. “That’s it?”

“...Yes?” he replies, thinning his eyes and cocking his head forward. What the hell else does he want? A written note on parchment paper?

Chris’ mouth starts to open, quickly flattens into a line. His hands hang slack by his sides. He lets out a slow breath, pushes his hair back while averting his eyes. They darken, his face goes soft, then hard. “Did you..." he says, and then he makes eye contact. "Did you have to be that much of a fucking asshole about this, Josh? Was it… Is it that _funny_ to you? Why would you do that?”

Josh blinks. “...What?” he says.

“What? Did you think I was going to laugh about this? Have a good chuckle with _the bro_?”

“Dude, what d’you—”

“Stop. I get it, Josh. I’m supposed to be...tittering with laughter, I guess? Because, _ha_ _ha_ , the fact that…” Chris’ mouth pulls to one side and he peers down the creek to a spot of light and he gives the brick a shove. “The fact that I like you is _really_ hilarious, right?”

Three things happen. His heart stops. It withers and folds. And it snaps from his chest like a dry leaf, leaving him frigid and empty.

What the fuck. What the _fuck_.

He pushes his voice up into his mouth, licks his lips. “You... _like_ me?”

Chris sighs and turns from him. “Josh. Stop it. I’m not humouring you anymore.”

“No no no, bro, listen, I fucked up, there’s been a _huge_ misunder—”

“I know you fucked up,” Chris says. “ _Bro_.”

And he stalks off, disappearing into the thicker shadows overlaying the creek, reappearing at its mouth as a dusky silhouette as he steps up onto the fence. He doesn’t look back.  

Josh doesn’t move.

He doesn’t move for a long time, as rooted to the ground as any of the trees around him.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.     

*

The next few days don’t feel like days at all. They feel more like a series of conjoined tunnels and he’s wandering, wandering, wandering.

He busies himself with sketching designs for his dad’s movie, nourishing Sam’s hype for their trip, keeping his usual rhythm in the group chat with the others. Nobody suspects anything; not even his sisters. It’s trip anxiety. You know how it is.

The fact that Chris never replies directly to anything he says, it’s subtle.  

Well, that’s the intended effect, he suspects. But whenever he notices, panic blares in his chest and the vibrations carry into his teeth and ears.

Yeah. Trip anxiety.  

*

Sam arrives in the evening for their final gear inspection, already dressed in pajamas. They sit in his room, gear surrounding them with a random Spotify playlist running. 

About fifteen minutes in, Josh lets out an exasperated sigh and sets down a pair of headlamps. It earns him a questioning look.

“Jesus, Sam,” he says. “Give it a rest and go spend some quality time with your girl. Why don’t you run off and leave it all to me?”

Sam sits back on her feet. “You sure?”

“I just learned my shapes yesterday. _And_ I know how to check off boxes. Reading’s still a little iffy, but…” He drops into the chair by his desk, shrugging. “I can manage.”

She stretches her arms over her head. “I guess that’d be nice.”

“Honestly: go. I know you’ve been running checklists in your head for the last three weeks. I’m not into masochism, but I can make special exceptions for one of my bros if it means they can…”

Sam’s face tells him not to continue.

He smiles. “You know what I mean.”

“Okay, I’ll take you up on your incredibly charitable offer,” Sam says. “To _relax_.”

“Good. Now I’ve got something I can use against you when I don’t wanna do something.”

“I’ll let you _think_ that that’ll work,” Sam says, passing him her notebook. “Speaking of bros and quality time…”

Josh sighs through his nose.

“No hangout before you leave?”

He gives a one-shouldered shrug. “I guess he’s busy.”

“You guess?”

Sam, please, not tonight, and honestly, not forever. “Yes, Sam. I’m guessing because I don’t _know_.”

She nods slowly. “Okay.”

“Sorry. I’m really freakin’ tired,” Josh says.    

“Does sound like you need some alone time,” Sam says, “I’ll—”

Josh’s phone vibrates and lights up. And of course it’s on the floor. And of course Sam is proficient at reading upside-down.

“There’s the boy,” she says, her light expression fading when she glances up at Josh.

He’s staring at his phone and willing it to explode and he can feel her eyes on him. Dipping forward, he snatches it up and throws it onto his bed.

“You’re not going to reply?”

“Nope. Not right now, anyway.”

“Oh…” Sam says, lifting her brows high.

“It’s a coincidence, Sam.”

“That he texted right when you asked for alone time? Uh, _yeah_.”

He waves her off. “No correlation. For real, get outta here.”

Finally, she relents, beaming at the open doorway of his room. “Okay, okay. I’ll get going then. Stop by if you need me.”

“Should I knock first?” he asks, trying to grin.

She gives him a look that says, _Seriously, Josh?_ He's still got it. Good. At least something's still right with the universe. 

He winks and says, “Have a good night at the dance.”

At that, Sam sends her eyes in a smooth arc and slips out, closing his door. 

Josh waits, waits. Silence. He reaches for his laptop and shuts off the playlist. He pushes some of their things around with his foot, pushes it back into place. Rummages in his closet for an extra shirt to add to his stuff. Turns back to his bed. He moves for it and studies his phone, working his jaw. His hands itch. He wants to snap the thing in half. Easy now.

His fingers are filled with cold lead, but somehow he guides them to the home button as he sits and hunches over the screen. 

And there it is:

(1) New Message


	5. Chapter 5

**Chris** : fuck you. why did you do that?   

  
  
  


**Chris** :it’s been on my mind for the last few days and you (unsurprisingly) haven’t bothered to say anything, and idk where you are or if you have signal, but….about that night. you wanted to say something… i thought at first you were being a huge dick bc that’s like your Specialty and i mean you definitely Were don’t get me wrong and i hope you know that but idk. idk. what did you mean when you said you Fucked Up? are you even gonna look at this?

  


**Josh** : hey. i’m looking at this. you there?

  


**Chris** : i’m here

 

 **Josh** : hi

 **Chris** : hello

 

 **Chris** : what’re you doing?

 

 **Josh** : i am sitting outside in the dark trying not to barf my brains out

 **Chris** : ...is that safe?

 **Josh** : we’re at a lodge rn so yes. unless there’s a serial killer out or this lake is infested with demons  
what’re you up to?

 **Chris** : nothing really. chilling in my room  
no demons here

 **Josh** : you sure?

 **Chris** : well, you’re not here so yep

 **Josh** : damn

 

 **Chris** : how’s the weather?

 **Josh** : good so far, warm but nothing like la  
la weather still shit?

 **Chris** : still shit  
done any hiking yet?

 **Josh** : nah, just got into Jasper     
i mean we walked here from the station but that wasn’t anything major

 **Chris** : cool

 **Josh** : you hoping i break a leg or something

 **Chris** : hmmm  
so how’s sam?

 **Josh** : sam’s turned into a human raisin  
she was in the bath for 2 hrs no joke

 **Chris** : classic sam  

 **Josh** : yep

 **Josh** : she used all the hot water

 **Chris** : hah

 **Josh** : yeah i’m sure you’re pleased by that

 **Chris** : very

 **Josh** : i will have my revenge

 **Chris** : oh i don’t doubt that

 **Josh** : thx

  


**Chris** : anyway….

 **Josh** : anyway

 **Josh** : sorry were u gonna…?

 **Chris** : no, by all means  
continue

 **Josh** : ok   

 

 **Chris** : yes?

 

 **Josh** : can i just start by saying i’m rly fucking sorry?

 

 **Chris** : go ahead  

 **Josh** : i’m rly fucking sorry  
and i fucked up. badly.

 **Chris** : ok like  
are you just gonna rehash what you said before?  
bc if you are then don’t bother. i’m serious.

 **Josh** : i’m not  
look when i said i fucked up… i meant

 

 **Josh** : ok lmao this isn’t gonna work

 **Chris** : why?

 **Josh** : because you deserve more than a text?  
feels kinda shitty to be doing it like this

 **Chris** : are you. messing with me again.

 **Josh** : i’m not.  
really.

 **Chris** : so what are you saying?? ...you wanna call?

 **Josh** : i’d rather see you in person and explain  
prolly fuck something up again otherwise  
signal’s kinda shit out here too

 **Chris** : i see  

 **Josh** : too long?  
don’t wanna see me?

 **Chris** : no that’s not it  
i’ll wait

 **Josh** : that’s good

 **Chris** : but that’s another week

 **Josh** : yeah

 **Chris** : on top of you doing whatever you were doing

 **Josh** : yeahhh

 **Chris** : which was Nothing?

 **Josh** : it wasn’t nothing

 **Chris** : well it sure felt like nothing

 **Josh** : i’m not saying you weren’t fucked over  
but i fucked myself over with this too  
okay?

 **Chris** : okay  
i guess

 

 **Josh** : i was planning on saying something

 

 **Chris** : really? when? like, it’s been a week, and you’re in the middle of nowhere with a shitty signal  
and it’s only gonna get worse??  
so when were you going to do this josh? 

 **Josh** : why does it matter?

 **Chris** : are you for real?  
how does it not matter!!

 **Josh** : i’m here now aren’t i?

 **Chris** : you are, but is it only bc i sent you another message?

 **Josh** : no  
maybe a little

 **Chris** : jfc dude

 **Josh** : hey  
i honestly didn’t think you wanted to talk to me again  
and that if you did you prolly needed a fuck tonne of space first

 **Chris** : that’s…….a reasonable assumption to make but  
i kinda need answers

 **Josh** : well i see that now

 **Chris** : Great.  
like, do you know how screwed up it was to see you act like everything was all hunky dory in the chat? like nothing even happened?

 **Josh** : what, did you expect me to just air out all this shit in front of everybody? wtf? 

 **Chris** : uh, no, i’m just Saying

 **Josh** : well then cut it out  
not like i did that with a smile on my face or something

 **Chris** : fine

 **Josh** : you’ll get answers       
oooooor maybe i’ll get impaled on a tree branch before then hahahaha

 **Chris** : well i do want to talk to you  
so maybe don’t

 **Josh** : no promises  
but i want to talk to you too

 **Chris** : really? i couldn’t tell

 

 **Josh** : fair enough  
but i do

 **Chris** : whatever  
there’s obviously something i don’t know  
and i guess i’m willing to wait to find out what that something is

 **Josh** : you already know

 **Chris** : ???

 **Josh** : i’m a fuckin dumbass

 

 **Chris** : ...dammit  
..i laughed

 **Josh** : just wait 1 more week, provided i don’t fall into a hole  
and hopefully sam doesn’t wring me out

 **Chris** : it’ll be more than a week if you Just got to jasper

 **Josh** : same difference?

 **Chris** :  …..

 **Josh** : dude i’m sorry i wish i could explain now  
but you’ll be busy so don’t sweat it  
just lemme do all the sweating for you

 **Chris** : ……………...

 **Josh** : i mean for real, we’re gonna be fucking shit up over here

 **Chris** : as long as it’s nature shit, and not yours  

 **Josh** : ofc dude, and i’ll do it on your behalf

 **Chris** : thanks

 **Josh** : no prob

 

 **Chris** : so is it 1am over there?

 **Josh** : yes it is

 **Chris** : you should maybe sleep then

 **Josh** : do you know who i am

 **Chris** : a dumbass who should be asleep

 **Josh** : haha  

 **Chris** : i don’t wanna be responsible for you bumbling over a cliffside  

 **Josh** : sounds more like ur schtick

 **Chris** : i never said it wasn’t  
juuust that it’ll be yours too if u don’t go to bed

 **Josh** : wouldn’t want that

yeah ur right i should go

 **Chris** : i’m guessing it’s gonna be a while before we can talk again

 **Josh** : yeah once we hit Banff we’re going like… off the grid  
aka tomorrow  
maybe we’ll get to star in a new wrong turn movie

 **Chris** : that soon?    
also please stop with the murder talk

 **Josh** : ok ok…. anyway yup, hoppin on a bus in the morning  
we’ll prolly have a lil time to ourselves in town, making it quick tho. kind of a corny place, yknow?

 **Chris** : hm   
but kitsch is your niche

 **Josh** : what

 **Chris** : idk, that sounded better in my head  
forget i said anything

 **Josh** : knick knacks are whack

 **Chris** : mmmstop it

 **Josh** : only following your example  
so aren’t i supposed to be going to bed now? quit holding me up

 **Chris** : *shrug*  
i’m not stopping you

 **Josh** : yet you keep talking

 **Chris** : welp. well, okay. i’ll leave you to it  
have fun

 **Josh** : totally. there’s a lot of mounds here for me to enjoy

 **Chris** : i formally retract my statement

 **Josh** : what no

 **Chris** : why do you have to be like this?

 

 **Josh** : well that’s a loaded question

 **Chris** : i didn’t mean that in a bad way

 **Josh** : meh, you’d have been justified

 **Chris** : seriously  
like i’m still pissed but

 **Josh** : relaaax, i know what u meant

 **Chris** : okay :/

 

 **Chris** : so a week and a bit?

 **Josh** : a week and a bit

 **Chris** : cool. okay. well    
until then i guess

 **Josh** : yep

 **Chris** : you’re rly gonna tell me what’s going on?

 **Josh** : promise  
it’s def happening

 **Chris** : okay. well. until then.

 **Josh** : yep

 **Chris** : gn

 **Josh** : night

  
  


**Josh** : hey, are you still awake?

 **Chris** : yes  
why are you still up?

 **Josh** : could ask u the same Q  
timezone’s fucking with me, can’t sleep. neither can you i guess

 **Chris** : nope   
...are you still outside?

 **Josh** : yeah. i’m at the point now where if i look back to the lodge i keep thinking sam’s staring at me through the window. it’s dark as fuck here and i left the light on

 **Chris** : creepy

 **Josh** : like i don’t wanna be drunkenly stumbling into some rando’s lodge but now mine is cursed

 **Chris** : and you left Sam there all by herself

 **Josh** : she can hold her own no prob  
i’ll come back and she’ll be suplexing a demon  
then she’ll knock me the fuck out bc i’m supposed to be asleep  
everybody wins a prize

 **Chris** : wow

 **Josh** :  ur welcome

 **Chris** : what am i supposed to be thankful for?

 **Chris** : you definitely need to not be awake rn

 **Josh** : fine, i’m heading back

 

 **Josh** : one more thing tho

 **Chris** : ok

 **Josh** : the sky here is fucking sick, like idk it just looks different  
from blackwood i mean. idk lol

 **Chris** : wow  
think you can send a pic?

 **Josh** : let’s see….  
does this work? [image attached]

 **Chris** : geez. that’s where you are right now?

 **Josh** : yeah, cool right? i’m standing outside our place

 **Chris** : yeah. probably looks even better in person

 **Josh** : that it does

 **Chris** : it’d be cool to see something like that

 **Josh** : wish u were here so u could

 

 **Chris** : ..yeah?

 **Josh** : yeah  
i think it’d be nice

 **Chris** : hmmm

 **Josh** : see, the Great Outdoors is not as evil as it seems

 **Chris** : oh no it definitely is  
but i make exceptions on the right occasions

 **Josh** : is that right?  

 **Chris** : yeeep

 **Josh** : oh  
anyway, i’m going now for real and i don’t regret this but i’m prolly gonna die tomorrow just saying

 **Chris** : i too will make an attempt  
to sleep. not to die

 **Josh** : thx for the clarification

 **Chris** : np

 **Josh** : anyway

 **Chris** : anyway

 **Josh** : thanks for not like, deleting me off your phone  
and for putting up with me being like this lol

 **Chris** : thanks for not ghosting on me   
and pls don’t think like that  
i think you’re having a rough time and i didn’t rly make it any easier tonight. sorry for that

 **Josh** : u don’t need to be sorry  
it’s whatever

 **Chris** : well, i am  
so accept it

 

 **Chris** : since you’re still here  
can i ask you something?

 **Josh** : is it a good something or a bad one?

 **Chris** : we’ll see

 **Josh** : shit. ok.

 **Chris** : k so……….. you Know i’m Not afraid of heights, right?

 **Josh** : yeah...i do know that

 **Chris** : ok so you know that  
but you never called me out on it

 **Josh** : true but  
you also never called me out for suggesting it

 **Chris** : is that what you wanted me to do?

 **Josh** : not really, no  

 **Chris** : okay. i didn’t want you to say anything either  
at least not something related to that  
well, that’s it. i’ve held you up long enough

 **Josh** : ..oh. ..ok

 **Chris** : so what do you think? good or bad

 **Josh** : don’t wanna jinx it

 

 **Josh** : shit i think the sun’s rising

 **Chris** : really?

 **Josh** : lmao no jk… it will soon tho

 **Chris** : alright. we should srsly get out of here

 **Josh** : yeah. god i’m fucked

 **Chris** : i know it’s not your style, but tbh just sleep on the bus like a normal human being

 **Josh** : yeah i can’t read what u wrote it’s just blank

 **Chris** : then i guess you’re fucked

 **Josh** : yep. royally.  
alright so: a week and a bit?

 **Chris** : a week and a bit  
remember: no stumbling off cliffs or anything

 **Josh** : idk, no promises  
anyway, guess i’ll be seeing you

 **Chris** : absolutely

 **Josh** : cool. well, until then

 **Chris** : until then

 **Josh** : gnight o/

 

 **Chris** : night \o


	6. Chapter 6

Halfway up the access road, Sam turns to him as they trudge through the gravel and says, “Are you serious, Josh?”

Josh half-smiles, looking at his feet before he meets Sam’s eyes. “Sam, when have I never not been serious?”

“We’re not going there.”

“You’re right,” he says. “We’re not. We’re going here. Up this road that is way too fucking long.”

Okay, it’s not _that_ long. But it’s a barren stripe that cuts through the woods, composed of dust and flattened dirt and rocks. A whole lot of nothing meant for the easy access of service vehicles. Imposing in the way the trees close in, heavy and uniform. Bland otherwise, with the complete lack of views. At least the weather’s clear.

The hardness in her expression crumbles a little as Sam snorts. “Don’t be a baby. It isn’t that bad.”

“It’s freakin’ awful. And it’s your fault.”

“What? How is it _my_ fault?”

“Are _you_ serious?” he asks. “No, wait, hang on, look at me; are you serious?”

Sam lifts her chin. “I’m serious.”

“We would’ve been on time for the trailhead bus if you left your interrogation shit for later.”

“I wasn’t interrogating you. If you tell me something like ‘I’ve been lying to you for the past week,’ then what do you expect me to do?”

He frowns and averts his eyes.  

“I’m worried, Josh. Not angry. And let’s be fair, that’s essentially what you said.”

“No, Sam, I said…”

*

Two hours have passed and Sam’s eyes, a pair of daggers, have made a few inches of progress into the back of his neck.

As it turns out, the only thing worse than sleeping on a bus is pretending to sleep on a bus. And worse than that: pretending to sleep on a bus when you have never in your life committed yourself to such inane activities and also your friend fucking knows it and is waiting to bombard you with questions when your charade drops.

What a great way to start the morning.

“Josh,” Sam whispers, because most of the other passengers on the bus are asleep (truly), “I know you’re awake.”

Okay, fine. God. He can’t do this for another hour. Shifting, he peeks over his shoulder at her. “Sam,” he whispers back, “I know what you did last summer.”

“You were outside for a while last night.”

“Can’t a guy get some fresh air on his free time?”

“At 3 in the morning when he has to hike fourteen kilometres the next day?”

“S’how it works in Canada, Sam. Pretty fucked up, huh?”

He earns a glare from an elderly person near the front of the bus. Canadian, probably.

“Everything good?” Sam asks.

“Not sure if ‘good’ is the right word for where we’re at right now.”

“...Better?”

“Maybe,” he says, shrugging. “Also, I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

“About…?”

“Pretty much everything I told you.”

Sam stares at him, and he would do the same if the sun wasn’t slicing through the windows into his eyes.  

He shrugs again. “I’ll explain later.”

By ‘explain later,’ he’d hoped that Sam would suspend her disappointment and leave it for when they went out into the backcountry. Plenty of material to cover for the course. Syllabus printed, notebook open, no distractions.  

Nope.

Once the bus reached Lake Louise, dropping them off in front of an old inn, she took him aside and got him to spill everything. He felt stupid sitting beside his backpack in the middle of nowhere, the sky still new and the air too still and his hands making knots with each other as he tried not to bite his nails. At the very least, he convinced her to let them get their rental car first and make some progress towards the trailhead.

Sam hadn’t said anything, simply looked at him like he had a long loose thread hanging off the edge of his shirt that she wanted to remove. So he did it for her and then he was talking, voice filling the small space until it became barely breathable, words getting stuck in his mouth as he stared at the mountains.

He hadn’t realized she’d taken the car into the parking lot.

She’d watched the bus come and go as he knuckled his eyes and pressed colours into them, waited for him to settle down.

And that was that.

Bye bye bus.

(And bye bye dignity!)

*

Thankfully, by the time they clear the access road, they’re tired enough to stop making digs at each other.

Sam uses that time to catch a selfie of them in front of the official trailhead sign. Josh can do little more than cooperate as he regains himself, as much as he wants to pull a face. He doesn’t say anything when she takes more than a few tries to get the picture to turn out right (and because Sam is Sam, she deletes each one as she deems it unfit and starts all over again rather than deleting them all at the end). Finally, she gets one she likes.

“I’ll try to send this one off at the campground,” Sam says.  

Josh pushes his hair back with his hands, trying to flatten it. “You tell me that after you take the picture? Didn’t even get a chance to get all dolled up.”

“Aw, don’t be shy,” Sam coos, showing him the picture as they start walking again, crossing once more into thick woods. Their faces are a little rosy, and while Sam’s hair looks the same as always, gathered on her head in a casual bun, Josh’s hair is loose without gel, curls more apparent. “Look how _cute_ …!”

“No.”

“You don’t think so?’

“Sam, please, I just ate,” he says, pushing her hand. “Is this revenge for what I did? Little much, don’t you think?”

She puts her phone away. “Do you think I’m mad at you?”

“I dunno,” he says. “I guess I’ve been kind of waiting for you to like, call me a huge fuck-up or whatever.”

“Hm…”

His chest tightens as if to rein in on every muscle, yet his mouth moves. “Hey, speak up. We can keep the animals away with this shit.”

He doesn’t completely regret the way Sam quiets, because at least he can make _something_ go his way. Tiny as the morsel is, pettiness is a snack he can’t resist. Christ. If he wasn’t a fuck-up a few seconds ago, he definitely is one now.

“Sorry,” he says, swinging his arms back and forth.

“You know I wouldn’t say that about you.”

He nods. Maybe, maybe. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

“I kind of want you to, though.”

“I...don’t think that would help.”  

“Y’never know. It could. Might even be cathartic.”

“For who? You, me...?”

Josh shrugs, regarding her inquisitively. “Why not both?”

“Ugh, shut up,” she says, kicking at his boots “You’re not supposed to do that when we’re talking like this.”

“Who says? There a law against it, Giddings?”

“I’m sure there is. Somewhere.”

“Well, lemme know if you find it. Until then, I’ll continue on my bullshit.”

“Great.”

“Yup.”

A few kilometres later, the woods open up into a verdant meadow, bouquets of wildflowers strewn about like splashes of paint. The green monotony of the forest is relegated to the background. Buttercups sit in golden domes close to the earth, while paintbrushes and fireweed sway in the breeze at a rhythm slower than the grass, weighed down by their petals. Western anemones dot the edges of the trail, stray patches of snow that seem to have wandered from the swathes topping the mountains in the distance. The air is cool and fresh and sweet, its fragrance stronger against the emptiness of the sky.

The intensity of it all hits him; Sam reacts the same way as she stills and breathes in.

“Fuck,” he says, “it’s like taking a really good hit.”

Sam laughs. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Correction: the best way.”

“Okay.”

“Straight Edge Sam says ‘okay?’ Did I hear that right?”  

“You heard me.”

“Wow. Do I—Do I even _know_ you anymore? I must be in the Twilight Zone.”

“That was a nickname you came up with in Grade 8, Josh.” Sam shakes her head. “Geez. I almost forgot about that one.”

“Yeah well, it’s never been refuted. Until now.”

“You seem to be forgetting all the times you snuck into your parent’s cabinet when I was over? And the fact that I was _with you_ at your first party in high school?”

“Beer doesn’t count, Sammo. Beer is nothing. This is a whole other level. You’re finally as corrupted as the rest of us.”

Sam lifts an eyebrow.

“Hannah’s not the baby pancake cinnamon roll you think she is. C’mon Sam, you know this. Twins? Sign of evil. You’ve seen their scheming.”

“They get that from you, Josh. Also, you’re totally making that up.”

“Okay, true. Hannah’s still a pancake. But also: _me_ ?” Josh says, gesturing towards himself. “Me? A _schemer_? You got the wrong guy.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I meant…” Sam really looks like she’s thinking about it. “Top Level Grade A Prank King?”

“Now that’s more like it. Could use a little more finesse, but—”

“Hey, I tried!”

“You did. Now, because there’s nobody out here to confirm my charity and goodwill, I’ll offer you a reward.”

“Can’t wait...”

“Spoken like a true champ. Alright: dinner’s on me tonight.”

“...What are you going to do to it?”

“I dunno, Sam. Cook it? It won’t be anything like that teppanyaki place, _although_ —”

“I mean, we’re talking pranks and now you want to cook dinner. Makes sense for me to be a little suspicious, don’t you think?”

He smirks. “Fair enough. We’re drinking from the same watering hole, though, and it’s a hole I’d rather keep clean. Get my drift?”

“Sure…” she says, nodding slowly.

His teeth show now. “What? Don’t trust me with your rabbit food?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Don’t worry, there won’t be any cross-contamination. I mean, you know I’m packin’ the meat. ...What? Don’t give me that face. I am.”

Sam doesn’t relent with her withered expression, nor does she give him satisfaction by responding with any variation of _I know_.

“Alright, alright. I’ll tone it down. Quality over quantity, I get it.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

*

Noon comes and goes at a leisurely pace, keeping in time with their steps. The Halfway Hut marks the first landmark in their trek, a small refuge cabin bereft of any furnishings. Despite the sun dangling high, its interior is dark and cool. Sam is content to sit by the entrance and snack on a granola bar while Josh makes his way inside.

“This is like, a fuckin’ kill room,” he says with a grin, resting his forearms against the doorframe as he leans out.  

Sam opens her mouth as if to question him, decides against it. She takes another bite of her bar. That seems to inspire her again. “Out in the open, just like this?”

“Why not? Hiding in plain sight; classic move. See this here? S’prolly blood from some kind of ritual or torture session. And it looks kind of _fresh_ , doesn’t it? Maybe the killer’s still out there...lurking…”

“We don’t have all day, Josh.”

“You’re right, Sam. Time might be running out for us as we speak.”

“Josh. Snack.” She digs into his pack and throws a bar at him.

A catch is a catch, even if he fumbles it. “I’ll pretend you weren’t trying to aim at my head.”

She gives him a thumbs up while taking another bite.

“Wish I brought one of my masks. Could’ve gotten some good shots.”

“You still can,” Sam says.

“Yeah, if I want to contribute to your Pinterest page.”

“Easy now.”

“I’m kidding. I have one myself. Anyway, you’re right. If I go over here like this… Can you imagine a camera panning in like _this_ , and then cutting to...”

He takes a few pictures, imagining the sequences to go with them, making his way through his protein bar. Sam, whether she wants to or not, becomes privy to an oral screenplay. To his delight, she actually knows what he’s referencing and using as inspiration. Sort of. That or she’s nodding so he doesn’t chastise her.  

When he emerges from the hut, he meets again the resounding blue of the sky. Blue like ice, blue like...well, we won’t go there. No point in ruminating over anything now, not when there’s more than a week left. Not when there’s no—

“Oh, hey, I’ve got reception here.”

“...What?” He crouches and rests an elbow on Sam’s shoulder, staring up at her outstretched hand. Sure enough, there’s bars.

His chest thumping, he reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out his own phone.

Bars.

The realization hits _him_ like a bar. A steel one, that is.

As soon as Sam sends out their trailhead selfie, the signal disappears.  

“Ah. Didn’t get to caption it. Well, we might have better luck at the campground since it’s on a hill.” She shrugs his arm off, notices his expression, and smiles.

“You think so?” he asks.

“Mmhm.”

“...Huh.”

“Better save your battery. C’mon, let’s get going.”

Josh goes to follow, though not before he stares down at his phone with a contemplative face, squeezes it in his hand. Tucking it away, he catches up and matches Sam’s stride. His mouth moves and he goes through the motions of interacting, while his brain blooms with a thousand questions.

Will the signal come back?

What would he do if it did?

What would he say?

Should he say anything?   

(...Can he?)

*

By the time evening rolls by, so does fourteen kilometres.

In comes the comfortable exhaustion that softens your limbs and hums warm in the blood, that makes dirt into a down-filled cushion and frozen steak a delicacy. He could eat the damn thing raw and have no complaints.

Alas, he must be courteous of other diners. Vegan dishes go first, before he contaminates everything with the essence of animals. After finding suitable stones for his cooking surface and placing them beneath the campfire to heat up, he arranges vegetable kebabs vertically around the flames and scoops out Sam’s stuff from her pack. Elbow pasta, olive oil, and a bunch of dry ingredients in a small bag. To sate his stomach during the wait, he snacks on slices of salami. The smell of roasting peppers and mushrooms wafts into his nose.

“S’good that it worked out this way,” he says, “because I still don’t know how to set up those things.”

One of the tent poles flicks Sam in the face as she wrestles it into place.

“Shit,” he says, popping another slice in his mouth. “Neither do you. Guess we’re gonna die out here.”

“Hmm... _you_ might. I think I’ll be okay.”

“Wow. Sass.”

Sam pulls a pose, hands on her hips.

His face scrunches as he ducks his head. “Why are you such a weirdo?”

“That’s big talk coming from you,” Sam says.

“Oh. Okay. Now you’re being a sasshole. ”

She gets back to work. “It’ll only get worse if you don’t get that mac going.”

“Nah, it’s getting worse regardless. What the hell is this?” Josh holds up a small packet, shaking it for effect. “ _Vegan_ bacon bits?”

“That’s what it says on the bag. C’mon. Try one. It won’t kill you.”

“Fat chance of that. These are like...y’know what these are? Those cyanide pills you hide in your mouth and bite down on. Might wanna save one of these for the trail if the going gets tough.”

“Oka-ay, suit yourself…” Sam sing-songs, disappearing round the tent. Whether she did that on purpose or not, he doesn’t know. Watching, waiting, he strains to listen for her over the fire. Okay, well, those sound like tent-making noises.  

Maybe he does try one. Or two. ...Several? They’re not _good_ , he just needs some variety and the water’s taking its sweet time to boil and eating raw vegetables is worse than death. That and contemplating the pasta rolling around in the bubbles makes him think of Kraft Dinner and when he thinks of Kraft Dinner he thinks of… Well.

They’ve got two more days, a rest day in Banff proper, and a final hike near the BC border. Still a ways to go. While he stirs the pasta, he checks his phone. No signal. No signal needed to look at prior messages. A smile threads into his mouth as he scrolls back to their conversation on the night of the fair. And then before that, when Chris had invited himself over to game and watch movies. The night he’d finally decided to do something about all this.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The thought comes with dulled barbs. He exhales through his nose and shakes his head in disbelief. Hindsight and all that. You really are something, Josh. Build a house, burn it down, and wonder what the hell happened when you’ve still got the match in your hand.

Sam sits by the fire cross-legged, leaning over to show him the group chat. “Jess is asking if we’ve hugged a bear yet.”

“Tell her we haven’t seen another dude out here for miles,” he says, keeping a straight face until he gets pushed on the shoulder. “What else is new?”

“A lot of animal talk. Matt says not to trust the elk. Mike wants...a picture of a wolf… Em says you’re only allowed to bring home ice wine. No fleas.”

“Joke’s on her. I already had them.”

Sam chuckles. “Yep, that’s what Ashley said.”

“Yeah? And you can tell Ash that I got them from her. Take that, Hashbrown.”

“Am I your personal messenger now?”

“Don’t you enjoy being my designated sniper?”

“It’s not really the most dignified job out there.”

“More dignified than you wearing a cowboy hat to school every day for like a month back in the day. You ‘member that, Sammy?”

She clearly does, what with the way she winces and puts her head into one hand. “How and why do you still remember that?”

“Sorry, you’re asking me to forget that? You’re the reason Hannah went into her horse phase. If we didn’t have the lodge already, I’m pretty sure she would’ve roped us into getting a stable or something.”

“So close…” Sam says, eyes wistful as she stares off. “That would’ve been really cool. Geez.”

“Uh, no. Horses are fucking terrible.”

Sam gasps. “Take that back.”

“Send my messages; then we’ll talk.”

“Really?”

“Nah.”

“Tsk. Knew it was too good to be true.”

“ _Duh_.”

When the pasta’s softened, he dumps out most of the water and adds the olive oil. Next comes a dry mixture of yeast, garlic powder, and the bacon bits. Sam adds a dash of salt and pepper. Josh’s stomach grumbles as he hands the pot off to her. What’s one more bacon bit? He plucks one off the top before she can stop him, revelling in her distaste. Now he can get started on his own meal.

In a few minutes his steak is caramelizing over oiled stone, the smell of meat mixed with garlic and spices a rich cloud between them, the circling smoke only deepening the effect. Sam digs in, raising her eyebrows thoughtfully as she eats a spoonful of macaroni. A wave of hunger ripples through his stomach, so he reaches for the skewers. Halfway through his second kebab, he turns to Sam.

“Did Chris said anything?”

“Mm, not really,” Sam says. “Although he _did_ agree that you have fleas.”

“Ouch.”

“Don’t worry, he put a little smiley next to it. See?”

“Oh, good. Sam, I’m happy to announce that I’m no longer bleeding profusely from my wound.”

“Just a trickle now?”

“Just about. How much do you think he hates me out of ten?”

“Josh, you know it’s zero. At the very worst, it’s probably a one.”  

“Okay. How much do _you_ hate me out of ten?”

She puts on a cheeky smile, reaching for a kebab. “Way under zero, thanks to this. You’re quite the chef.”

“ _Nice_ ,” he says, finishing off his vegetables and checking on his steak. Picking it up with a knife, he adds another round of salt and spices to the stone before flipping it onto the other side. “Figured I should be somewhat useful, y’know?”

Her expression softens. “Hey. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“Too late for that.”

“Not really.”

“Yes really.”

“I mean, you definitely made a mistake,” Sam says, “but you’re his best friend. And he’s, well, he’s Chris. He really cares about you.”

“Gross. You used the C-word.” Josh prods at the fire with a stray branch, taking satisfaction in its crackling.

Sam lowers her voice to a whisper as she leans close to him. “You care about him, too.”

“Get _out of here_ with that shit,” he grumbles, pushing her away by the forehead with his index finger.

“You know him, Josh. He gives people chances. You got one last night.”

“This morning.”

“This morning. So my recommendation for you stays the same. Tell him like it is.”

“Right. Climb up this 5.11 wall, Josh, it’s not as bad as you think it is, you won’t regret it.”

“You made it up, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, and my legs snapped off the second I got down. Never again.”

“Once again: what I’m telling you is exactly what you told me to do with Beth.”

“Well, I was drunk. And yes, before you say it, I have definitely come up with some excellent, riveting speeches under the influence; I’ve also said some stupid shit.”

Sam shrugs. “I didn’t think it was stupid. Worked for me.”

“Because you’re you. Oh, would you look at that: steak’s done.”

“Josh. That is not done.”

“If a steak isn’t bloody as hell, it’s sure as hell not worth eating.”

Sam’s nose wrinkles. “Alright. You enjoy...that. I’m getting things cleaned up.”

“Sounds good. Come back in one piece. Or a one piece. Your choice.”

“I’ll give you a piece,” Sam says. “Of my mind!”

He has to stop cutting his steak into strips to laugh. “Nice one, Sam. That was good.”

Their chatter continues into the evening as they clean up and hang their bags, let the fire turn to embers. Tiredness settles more readily into their bones now as the day comes to a close. Despite having reached the point where the very act of resting their heads on their pillows would knock them out, they head down from their campsite to the adjacent lake to work out the last bits of energy from their bodies.

“If we’re on time tomorrow, we can catch afternoon tea at the Lodge,” Sam says.

“Will they also have afternoon booze?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Sick.”

“Mmhm…”

“Don’t worry, disclaimer text, I’ll drink responsibly.”

“Truer words have never been spoken.”

“I detect sarcasm.”

“You do?”

“Learning from the master, I see. Very good.”

“...Right.”

“Oh come on. Admit it.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Huh. Beth will find that _very_ interesting.”

“...Wh-What? Oh my gosh, you _jerk_ …”

“Chin up, Sammy, you’ve still got Jasper.”

“No!”

“Jesus, really? That was less than 48 hours. The fun’s over already?”

“If you hadn’t just showered, you’d be in the lake right now.”

“Hell yeah I would. I’d kill for a swim. Prolly sink right to the bottom.”

“Same. We covered a lot of distance today.”

“Used to think walking from one end of campus to the other was bad. Cakewalk compared to this.”

They walk a bit longer, more out of the compulsion to keep moving than a real desire to circle the lake. The sky is a ripe peach now, its vivid colour painting the tops of the mountains where purple shadows haven’t yet fallen. Sam requests photos of her silhouette against them (Josh obliges, thankful for the opportunity to desecrate her camera roll with terrible selfies).    

“You still good to go?” Sam asks, as she steps across a line of rocks.

He stretches and his arms go limp. “Good to go to bed.”

“Yeah. Let’s head back.”

It’s a quiet walk to the tent, elongating shadows and golden bars of sunlight keeping them company in the meantime.  Josh slips his hand into his pocket, digs out his phone. His skin awakens as a shiver skitters over it. There’s a signal. He stops moving.

Is it time? Is he doing this?

Is his jaw still connected to his skull?

There’s a smattering of alerts from the chat messages he’d missed. Sam actually followed through and delivered his messages (thank you, Sam), which had caused a bout of chaos.

“What’s up?” Sam asks, slowing to a stop.

“Uh…” The bars fluctuate. Up, down. And then: nothing. He stares, unsure if he means to make certain it stays away or if he wants to will it back into existence. In any case: nothing. He shrugs one shoulder, the phone goes back into his pocket. “Nevermind. S’nothing.”

“It’s really finicky,” Sam says. “I’m shocked we got anything at all.”

“Was really hoping I could snag some Netflix before bed.”

“Like you could find something on Netflix better than all this,” Sam says, gesturing to the trees around them.

“Can’t really get my fix of unadulterated violence and gratuitous bloodshed out here.” Josh smirks as Sam rolls her eyes. “Point taken, though. It’s nice.”

“Nothing out here but nature.”

“You sure about that, Sammy?”

“Positive,” Sam says as they reach their tent. She goes in first.

“Positive,” Josh echoes, following after her. “You clearly never saw _Willow Creek_.”

“Nope.”

“Don’t. It’s shit. Although there _is_ this one scene where the hapless couple is—”

“Eaten by a bear?” Sam says dryly, slipping into her sleeping bag.

He waves his hand in dismissal. “No, no, no, that was _Backcountry_. This one’s about Bigfoot.”

“Oh. Lovely.”

“Well, no, I just said it was shit.”

“Where were you going with this?”

“Do you wanna know or are we ready to call it quits?”

“I think I can piece it together myself, thanks.” Sam folds her arms behind her head. “I’m sure everyone got a _happy_ ending.”

He tilts his head and narrows his eyes, widening them again in mock horror. “Oh. Oh God. Sam. It’s not that kinda flick. Being away from Beth this long is making you frisky, huh?”

“Do you want to sleep outside, Josh?”

“Why? D’you need some alo—” He bites into his lip and struggles to hold in a laugh as Sam shakes her head at him slowly, her own lips pursed. Taking a deep breath, he shimmies into his sleeping bag. “Okay, I’m sorry, I forgot. Quality over quantity.”

“Thank you,” Sam says, moving to turn out the lantern.

“Hang on. One last thing.”

Her index and thumb waits on the switch.

“It’s...serious,” Josh says, as he settles on his pillow. Settling six feet under might work out better.

Sam mouths the word ‘oh’ and copies him.

He stares at the top of the tent, tracing its pentagonal shape. “Be real with me for a sec, Sam. Do you really think I still have a chance here?”

“Yes,” Sam says. “Absolutely.”

“Okay.”

“Like I said, Chris is Chris. And think of it this way. You had a chance. You...kinda fumbled it.”

“Dropped it in a garbage disposal.”

“But it’s still there. So you can either take it or leave it.”

“And get my fingers all chopped up? No thanks.”

“You wouldn’t chop your fingers up in the name of love?”

“...I guess I’ve chopped them on worse things,” Josh mumbles. “Like, have you ever touched his hair? It’s sharp as shit.”

“I can’t say I have, but...I can see what you’re saying,” Sam says. “Oh God, don’t tell him that.”

“It’s stupid. And so’s his face. Everything about him. Stupid. Hate that guy. I mean, who the hell does he think he is?”

“Uh...huh.”  

He looks at Sam from the corner of his eye. Holds her incredulous gaze before he deflates into a sigh. “Okay. You got me. I was lying.”

“Not your strongest performance.”

“And yet no worse than your best,” he says smugly.  

Her mouth straightens into a line. “Okay. I think it’s time for lights out.”

“You’re giving up already? Where’s that fighting spirit of yours?”

“Shhh.” The lantern goes out. “Goodnight Josh.”

With their voices removed from the chorus, night sounds become more prominent. There’s the regular warble of crickets, a distant owl, branches crunching alongside leaves. An occasional breeze sifts through the trees and pulls whispers out of them.

Josh thinks about checking for a signal one last time. Having dropped into a deeper state of exhaustion, his muscles protest against unnecessary movement. Reaching out his arm, letting it slink across the floor, he shuts off his phone and rolls onto his opposite side. He lets himself drift, following the wind and leaving behind the thoughts trying to tether him to the ground.

*

The day starts early for them, with the sun a pale bundle of rays overlooking the mountains. They’re confined single-file to a trail that cuts across a lush meadow nestled between two mountains, the wildflowers coming in thick again. In the morning light the world is milky and soft, making the journey smooth and relaxing. Lazy clouds keep the sun at bay. Not much elevation, except for the last section as they leave the embrace of the mountains and into an uphill pass returning to the trees.

They make it in time for afternoon tea at Skoki Lodge, where they supplement their snacks with DIY sandwiches and fresh fruit (no beer, unfortunately, as Josh restrains himself from ransacking the fridge). Sam somehow gets him to eat a celery stick smothered with peanut butter and raisins. Revenge, probably, for his turning an innocent game of _Would You Rather_ into _Which Trap From the_ Saw _Series Would You Rather Endure?_ Whatever. His laughter and Sam’s disgust had probably fended off the wildlife, and that’s what counts. Think about imaginary bear traps, not about getting trapped by a bear in real life, right?  

The lodge is small and cozy, a sort of Blackwood in miniature. Its living room is the largest feature, outfitted with a stone fireplace and a rough-hewn table overflowing with a wide variety of snacks. Cheese platters, small cakes, apples, chips and salsa. Beef stew overpowers the old smokiness of the lodge. Photos of past visitors fill the walls in a mosaic, some recent, most from many years ago. A few couches rest against the windows, which is where Josh stretches out and Sam sits, using his legs as a backrest.

The other hikers they chat with are either staying at the lodge doing day hikes in the area or heading back down the loop, clearly seasoned visitors as they share tips and secrets. Sam has more to say than he does, sharing stories of her treks back home and getting in deep with the terminology and waxing lyrical about famed peaks. Bouldering this, scrambling that. Something about how she’s dying to see a baby wolverine. She has a point form list of new places to check out by the time she’s through.

Josh gets up to wander, stealing snacks off the table and stealing glances at his phone. He probably looks foolish roaming up and down the halls and up the stairs, peeking at it when he doesn’t think anyone’s watching, stuffing it into his pocket as if it were white hot in the event that he messes up his timing. Chris does the same thing up at Blackwood if he has time to himself, and maybe Josh understands the reasoning behind it now. That and the futility of it. When he nearly walks into someone’s room, he calls the whole thing quits and goes back downstairs. Sam’s conversation with a few other hikers is just coming to a close as he slides into a seat. He charms them with talk of how he has a nearby family property and his interest in using the area as a filming location (they’re probably thinking _documentary_ , whereas he’s thinking _atmospheric gorefest_ ).

“Anywhere you could grab a signal out here?” he asks.    

“I’ve heard it happen. Gotta be lucky. Maybe if you head out a little further from here since we’re right smack-dab in the mountains,” one of them says. “But by then you might be too far from the towers. Signal comes from the highways, you know.”

“Yeah,” Josh says, nodding. “Figured as much.”

“There’s a chance. Never know, eh?”

He nods again.

Sam’s phone had caught a signal last night. And his had flickered to life, too.

There’s a chance, and he’s sure as hell not going to let it go of it this time if he can help it.

*

It’s true. He checks his phone when they hit the slightest of inclines. He agrees to climb up a goddamn mountain at Sam’s behest and sit on the summit with the wind whipping tears into his eyes and pulling goosebumps onto his arms. He prepares script upon script of things he could say, brain paging through all of them if he so much as feels his phone bump against him. Of course, they scatter once his phone touches his hand.

Relief permeates him at first when he can’t grab even the most basic signal. Good. Sure as hell doesn’t know what he wants to say yet.

Confronted by a string of no signal, no signal, and, oh, _no signal_ , he feels it changing into something else, a hollow shape growing larger and larger in his chest like a roll of cotton candy. Light, soft, yet with the ability to melt into him and make him sick.

He’s thankful for the clouds tumbling in and turning the sky monochrome. Grey overlaying grey, darker and darker and fuller until everything bursts at the same time and the rain begins to fall. They stop moving and the world stops, too.

God, he needs to get this over with.

*

Summer rain in the backcountry isn’t that much different from a summer rain in the city. Petrichor infuses the air with an earthy fragrance, drawing deep from the stones as it would from asphalt. The droplets make the leaves tremble whether they belong to larches or palm trees, shimmering on their tips like jewels, pitter-pattering overhead. A fine mist overtakes the skyline, making hazy a string of mountains rather than buildings.  

There is something different about watching it all unfold while sitting under a tree next to one of your best friends, tangled up in rain gear and tarps while thunder rumbles like a beast hiding behind the mountains. It’s in the mundanity of the situation, their smallness magnified as they huddle together in a forest far larger and older than they’ll ever be, that has existed and will exist without them. Without a true shelter, they’re forced to confront the fact.

Or not.  

Josh takes a drink from the bottle of red wine between them. Raindrops and the call of birds fill their ears in a steady, soothing rhythm. The only thing they need now is a pretentious smooth jazz track, something from one of his parents’ parties.

“How long were you carrying this?” Sam asks, taking the bottle for herself.  

“I bought it from the lodge. What, did you think I lugged this thing with me all the way from Vancouver or something?”

“Wouldn’t put it past you,” she says dryly.  

“Aw. Thanks Sam. Guess I’ll have to share it with myself.”

Just as he begins to tip the bottle towards his mouth, Sam lifts it out of his grip and takes a swig.

“Hey, hey. Pace yourself, munchkin.”

“Hardy har.”

“That’s another strike against Straight Edge Sam.”

“Can’t we just enjoy the moment? We were doing _so_ well.”

“We still are. I haven’t mentioned a single murder scenario the whole time we’ve been sitting here. It’s been the most perfect and pristine thirty minutes of chill out time.”

Sam considers protesting, just as soon closes her mouth.

“S’true, right?”

“...You got me.”

“ _Boom_.”

“Gimme that,” Sam says, clicking her tongue when Josh raises the bottle high above her head and away. She pokes him in the stomach and he almost drops it. That’s enough to convince him to hand it over.

“Y’know,” he says, folding his arms over his wound, “it’d be better if Beth were here instead of me. You could do a bunch of rom-com bullshit and all that. Like, this? This would’ve been perfect. I mean, who am I? Am I not getting something here?”

“Honestly?” Sam says.

“Yes, honestly,” Josh replies, eyeing her curiously.

“Hmm.” Sam observes him.  

“Spill it, Sam, what the hell.”  

“Oh, I dunno,” she says, bringing her knees to her chest. “You’re...kind of like my brother.”

He looks at her and tries to come up with something smart. Instead: “Huh?”

“There’s more than one reason I was grossed out when people said we were dating in high school.”

“Yeah?” Josh asks, eyes wide as he rubs the back of his neck and glancing off to the trees. He smiles, more to himself than at Sam. “That’s...wow. You really think that?”

“Yup.”

“Huh.”    

“Gee, Josh, how come your mom lets you have three sisters?”

He laughs, both at the phrase and at how uncharacteristic it sounds coming from Sam. “What the hell was that?”

Sam laughs alongside him. “You can thank Chris for that one.”

“Okay. I was gonna say that that is absolutely something he would come up with,” he says. “God, what a dork.”

“Him or me?”

“You’re both dorks. He’s cuter, though. No offence.”

“None taken.”

Before he can take another drink, Sam nudges at his shoulder. “Jesus,” he says, “what’s going on? You said ‘no offence taken.’”

“You are totally blushing right now.”

“I’m not,” he says, jerking his head towards his feet. His face starts burning now.  

“Yes, you are!”

“It’s the _wine_ , Sam. Totally involuntary.”

Unconvinced. “ _You_ don’t get glowy after three sips of wine.”

“Right. _You_ do, and you’re reflecting onto me.”

“All this because Joshy doesn’t wanna admit he’s got feelings.”

“I am _this_ close to poking a hole in the tarp, right above your head.”

“Go ahead,” Sam says, putting on a haughty face.

He yells out while jabbing his hands upward into the tarp, the water that already collected fountaining into the air. Sam flinches, but has enough presence to flip on her hood. Rainwater splatters around them and scatters a nearby flock of birds.

Sam glowers at him as he steps out into the rain, now reduced to a fine drizzle, with spread arms. Her expression doesn’t last long; as soon as they make eye contact, Josh breaks into laughter and Sam joins him after aiming the cork at his face.

“You’re a jerk!” she says, albeit her face is all smiles.

“Hey, what’re brothers for?” Josh asks, crossing his arms and tilting his head. “C’mon, let’s finish off that bottle at camp.”

“I regret having this conversation with you,” Sam says, shaking out the tarp and absolutely not trying to splash him with any leftover rainwater.

“I don’t,” Josh says, as he stows away the wine. “You should’ve seen the look on your face. Priceless.”

“Hmm. My face, huh? What about yours?”

“My look of triumph, you mean?”

“No, before that. Where your face was all blushy and red because you—”

“That’s funny, Sam, I don’t remember that happening at all.”

“Weird. I sure do.”

“Ugh. Three sisters to deal with. Fucking unbelievable,” Josh groans, walking off and rubbing his face with his hands.   

“As if you would have it any other way,” Sam says, her steps light beside him.

“I dunno,” he drawls.

No doubt about it: his insides are warm and buttery and the edge is gone.  

*

Of course, it’s short-lived.

“It wasn’t a fluke, Sam. I had _full bars_.”

He really had. Before they’d reached their campground, they passed a wall of rock half-hidden behind evergreens, a low extension of the mountains behind it. A lone waterfall stripes its centre, pouring into a base of flattened boulders. By chance he had peered at his phone, and there it was: a full triangle’s worth of signal. Ok, it flickered a bit. But it had never dropped to zero. The trail moved in a curve, taking them closer, and the fluctuations almost stopped. His heart had nearly done the same thing as his hand seized up. With evening on the way, though, owing to the time they’d lost to side ventures and staying put in the rain, Sam declared the venture a no go. Reaching this spot had also been a relentless downhill descent; to say they were tired would have been an understatement.

“You’d have to go past that cliffside, and I didn’t see any openings.” Sam stretches her legs out by the fire, squeezing her calves. “We can take check it out tomorrow morning if you want?”  

Josh takes a few steps towards the hill they’d descended to get here, holding up his phone. One bar appears, dips into zero. Fluctuates. Climbing a little higher, he waits. Strains his wrist a little more.

There. One solid bar. He throws Sam a knowing look.

She gives him one, too. “I’m as adventurous as the next gal, but running around in the dark without a map? Not a good idea.”

“Are you kidding? It’s a fantastic idea. Shit’s always popping off around this time of night,” he says. “And I know where to go.”

“You do?’

“Yes,” he says, exasperated. Sam hasn’t budged one bit. His shoulders drop and his phone smacks against his leg. “But…”

“But…?”

He sighs loudly, stuffing his phone into his shirt. “You’re right. I _guess_.”

“Mmhm.”

“No fun,” he mutters, as he trudges back to the fire, “no fun at all.”

“We had plenty of fun today.”

“Sure, but no near-death experiences. And what’s a trip into the wilderness without a near-death experience? We gotta have a story for the gang. What’re you gonna say?” he asks. His hand goes up before she can say anything. “Okay, no, wait, that was a dumb question, you’re gonna cream yourself over how pretty everything was and the fact that you fed a squirrel an acorn from your hand. Come _on_. Where’s the dramatic tension? It wasn’t even rabid.”

“I think you used up all the drama when you _were_ convinced it was rabid and tried to stop me from feeding it. And you...glared at it. You glared at an innocent little squirrel, Josh.”

“And I’d do it again. That’s what it deserved. Anyway, that wasn’t a near-death experience.”

“We still have time.”

“That is true. There’s still hope for us yet.”

“Until then, I’m hitting the hay. Long day tomorrow.”

Josh leans back on his hands. “You know, you don’t _have_ to sit in the bath for three hours. Just one is fine.”

“We’ve been roughing it for two days and we’ve got another three coming. You’ll want three hours, too.”

“What I want is a drink. A good one. And bacon burnt to a crisp.”

“Well then,” Sam says, slipping into the tent and then peeking out, “you’ll have to make it to at least tomorrow before you go and give yourself a heart attack.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Sammy.”

“Were you expecting anything less?”

“Nope.”

“Exactly. G’night.”

Instead of following her into the tent, Josh remains by the fire and gently tamps out the embers with his boots. Behind the mountains the sun lounges, ready to tuck away below the horizon and take the sky with it. He hangs around, listening to the crickets and swaying meadow grass. Massaging the ache out of his thighs captures his attention for a while, but it becomes harder to ignore the way his heart jumps in his chest the lower the fire gets. It vibrates up into his mouth when the fire becomes a mass of blackened chips and boy, he could barf right now.

Behind him drifts the sound of Sam’s breathing, slow and whistling. He freezes, shoulders going straight. Well. Now or never.

Taking the jacket he’d shucked on arrival to the campground, he sneaks over to the tent, unzips the flap, and, after folding the jacket into a lump, slides it inside beside Sam. Right where he’d usually sleep. He tousles it, as if he were settling into a spot. Leaves it. Sam doesn’t stir. He’d fist pump if he wouldn’t take the tent down with it. Once he extracts his arm, he holds his breath and zips the tent closed. Waits, his hands hovering over the zipper in case Sam wakes up and wonders what the hell he’s doing.

A minute passes. Nothing.  

He’s in the clear.

*

Maybe they shouldn’t have finished off the wine. His stomach is warm and maybe it’s the altitude, maybe it’s his emotions getting away from him. His brain is warm, too, and soft.

Or maybe that’s an excuse.

“We can check it out tomorrow morning if you want?” Sam had said.

He’d nodded. Yes, yes, true. But what if there’s no signal tomorrow? What if tonight contains some invisible deadline he can’t miss unless he wants to cast everything away? What if, what if, what if?

What else could he tell Sam if she wakes up too early?

Oh well. He can bullshit something later. If he can wait long enough to barf his brains out, he can get out of anything Sam can dish out.

So here he is now, flashlight in hand if he needs it and phone in his pocket, backtracking down the trail and thinking of all the ways he could perish. Death by forest local? Mutated cougar? Ghost of an angry hiker? The good thing in knowing about every single horror movie that exists is that you also have access to every terrible trope that exists. Josh cycles through them, riding on the exhilaration of false endangerment. He checks his phone and sees two flickering bars. It spurs him on, overrides the burning in his legs.  

The cliffside isn’t far. Fifteen, twenty minutes tops, beyond a sparse grouping of trees. Easy to find, thanks to his flashlight and his listening for the sound of running water. Off the main trail there sits the cliff and its waterfall cascading into pyramidal piles of felled rock. It looms over him as he approaches; although it reaches no more than fifteen feet, its edges now seem to melt into the sky. Strolling around the base of the rocks, he inspects the cliff for any footholds, or a path behind the waterfall. Nothing that would work for him. Sam could probably find a way up without a care. Him? Nah. Not worth it to shatter his spinal cord. And he doesn’t have proper footwear, chalk...you know. Whatever. Phone. Two solid bars. One fluctuation and... _there_. He shoves it back into his pocket, feeling a leak spring in his heart as he chews into his lip.

It takes a few minutes of roaming back and forth amongst the rocks before he comes across a chain of cairns starting in the grass near one of the boulder piles. They make their way up onto the rocks, balanced as precariously as their pedestals.  

Dammit. The things you do for [redacted].

He puts the flashlight away and blinks his eyes. The sun has enough of a hold so that everything is, while not as saturated, still visible in a dreamy light. Rubbing his hands together, he makes for the rocks and follows the cairns. Getting to their campground had required some amount of zig-zagging over scree; this is a little different. With larger slabs of stone here, slipping isn’t an option.

He keeps himself low, pushing at the next step up with his hands to test its stability. If Sam could see him now… Well, best not to think about it. She’d be worse than any bear or mutated cougar or zombie hiker. In a good way? Maybe? Okay, just stop thinking about it. She’ll sense it, and you’ll be sorry. Keep going.

The gradual slope of the rocks means that even at the top, he still can’t scale the rest of the cliff. He crouches, craning his neck to look for the next step. A fleck of light catches his eye. He tilts again, leaning further and further left until he sees it: situated diagonally in the wall, a hole with a cairn beneath it. As he approaches, finding more level stone, he realizes the gap is much bigger, having been hidden from view by the crags in the wall. It leads into a chimney chute tunnel, dusky light pouring through.

Nowhere to go except up. So up he goes, heart beating in his teeth.

It’s simple to manoeuvre without a pack, requiring nothing more than ducking under the bottom edge of the chute, slowly standing as he squeezes through, and hoisting himself out the top. A cairn greets him at the exit, and more.

In the midst of twilight, the blue enormity of the lake before him has deepened in hue, drawing colour from the sky and mirroring the dark crown of mountains and trees surrounding it. Stars continue to emerge, twinkling like gems sewn into a delicate curtain. Closest to him sit larches and evergreens along and in the shoreline of the lake, providing for him a leafy frame. Standing at the top of the pass, the hum of the waterfall behind his ears and cool air circling over his arms, he feels alive and non-existent all at once, breathless. It’s better than what he could ask for.

Sitting with his legs hanging over the edge of the stone, he takes out his phone. He holds it up to the sky and taps it on. Full bars, no question. His bones feel light, threatening to float out of his skin. He takes a minute to relax himself, slow his pulse. Words criss-cross underneath his eyelids, filling the mottled space. No, none of that. He lets them flit away when he opens his eyes.

“Here we go,” he whispers, and before his brain gets ahead of him he goes into his contacts and jams his finger down.

…

The ring tone warbles in his ear, peppered with stretches of static.

…

His heart quivers alongside it, edges as unruly.

…

A little more…

Then, crackly:

“...Josh?”

Shit. This is really happening. He swallows. “The one and only.”

The voice becomes clearer. “What...? Where are you?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Are you okay? I mean, shouldn’t you be, I dunno, calling for a search team or a ranger or...or where’s Sam? Is she with you?”

He has to laugh, hoping it doesn’t come out too shaky. “Relax, bro. I know how I got here, I don’t know what it’s called on a map. Get my drift?”

“Oh.” Chris sighs out of relief. “Okay. Good.”

“Yeah.”

“So…” Chris says, attempting to sound casual. “What’s up? Not that I’m opposed to this, I just wasn’t expecting—”

“I like you,” Josh says. His voice sounds entirely too loud. He grits his teeth, jaw hard as he stares down at the still water of the lake. Crap. You said it. You actually said it.

Chris makes a noise on the other end, goes silent for what has to be a full minute before he responds. “Sorry, what? The connection is...kinda shitty,” he says. “I didn’t, uh, hear what you said.”

Josh blinks. “Are you being for real right now?”

Pause. “...No.”

“You want me to say it twice.”

“Um… ”

“I like you, too,” Josh says, voice more level. “And I’m not joking. It never was a joke. That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

He listens to Chris on the other end, his breaths and movements muffled by bouts of crackling. He pictures him fidgeting, lying back on his bed with hard eyes.

“I swear,” Josh says.

“So then…” Chris says quietly, “So then why did you come up with all that bullshit? What was that?”

He tosses a stone into the water, lopsided from the shake in his hand. “I dunno.”

“That’s bullshit, too, isn’t it.” Careful, non-accusing.

“...Yeah.” Slowing his breath to Chris’ pace (or maybe it’s the other way around), he thinks about jumping into the lake. No responsibilities if you have hypothermia, right? “I dunno. I…” He bites his lip. Another rock goes sailing.

“What did you think?” Chris asks.

He hears pity mixed in the nonchalance of his tone and while it frustrates him, he nips into his cheek. “I… Christ, this is gonna sound stupid.”

“I’ve said plenty of stupid things.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Hey. You aren’t supposed to agree with me.”

He can hear the grin in Chris’ voice; he grins, too. “Yeah, I know.”

“Jackass.”

“S’my name. Don’t wear it out.”

“Don’t think that applies, considering I’ve known you for so long.”

“Fair enough,” he says, winding up his arm and chucking a stone as far as he can. He watches for the faint shimmer of the lake when it makes contact, leans back on his hand.

“And I mean, I...wanna get to know you even better, so…” Chris chuckles to himself. “Sorry, that was terrible. I’m terrible at this.”

“I’m worse—hands down, alright? We’re here now,” Josh says, sighing, “because I got the idea in my fucking head that you didn’t actually like me back.”

“What? ...How?” Chris asks. “I...I mean, okay, I’m kind of clueless—”

He can’t resist, and it helps him shed some nervousness. “Kind of?”

“You really gonna pull that now?” Chris asks, his tone chiding yet light.

“Right. Continue.”

“Okay. You _were_ trying something at the fair, right?”

“I was.”

“You held my _hand_. Which...” Chris doesn’t finish, humming to himself.

“That happened.”

“Did I not…”

“Had nothing to do with that whole thing. Like I said: I’m the worst.”

“So it...was when I asked you to go down to Matador.”

“...Yep.”

“Why?”

“You wanted to…” and Josh mentally kicks himself, “...‘ _talk_.’”

“Well, yeah,” Chris says. “...Oh. _Oh_ …”

“And...I dunno. I already felt like I didn’t deserve you, so...” He shrugs and throws another rock. Actually, he should’ve jammed the thing in his mouth and destroyed his teeth. Where’s a bottle of crappy wine when you need one? Make that ten bottles.

“Dude…”

Josh lets out a sharp laugh. “Yeah. Fuck. I’m an idiot.”

“No, c’mon.”

“What other explanation is there? Huh?”

“You already gave one to me. Look, that wasn’t your best moment, but it wasn’t because you’re an idiot. Seriously.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Y’know,” Chris says, “I thought, you’ve always been really good at reading people, so…”

“Guess I thought I could start writing them, too.”

“Oh. Fancy talk. You sure you’re not a lit major?”

“Shut up.” He laughs through his nose, leaning back until he’s flat and staring up at the sky. He lets his face soften. “Are you still…”  

“Mad?”

“You _mad_ , bro?”

Chris snickers. “Sorry, I interrupted.”

“It’s whatever. You can go first. Are you?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m _mad_. I’d say I’m...disappointed. That you felt you had to do that.”

“That’s fair.” He taps his head against the ground.  

“Y’know, it’s kind of...okay, not funny _haha_ that you felt like that, it’s just...I really didn’t think you were into me either. Even before all this happened. I thought you were trying to get a reaction out of me.”

“Just me being Me.”

“Yep.”

“You weren’t wrong.”

“Well, wrong about what kind of reaction I assumed you were after. Then I got to thinking that maybe I didn’t have the right story.”

“And then I proceeded to screw the whole thing over.”

“You almost did. Not gonna lie, Josh.”

“I know,” Josh says.

“I _knew_ something was off, though. Knew it. I’m glad I was right,” Chris says, and the bed shifts again. “So, what were you going to say?”

Josh nips the inside of his cheek. “I was gonna ask if you were still up for...this. Me. Whatever.”

“That’s you? Josh ‘Whatever’ Washington?’

“Yep.”

“Uh, yeah,” Chris says simply. “Of course I am. D’you know how long I’ve been waiting for this? Actually, don’t ask. So maybe it was a little messier than I thought it’d be…shit happens. World doesn’t always run like a romcom. I guess I gotta be really obvious when I get you from the airport. Bring like, a huge boombox so I can serenade you. Flowers? A _sultry_ smoulder?”

“You and sultry go together like—”

“Bacon and ice cream?”

“No. Like fries and mayo. Grody.”

“Like fries and ma— _what_? You’re kidding! Fries and mayo are the best! And you’ve literally never complained about it before.”  

“‘Cause your eyes roll back into your goddamn skull when you eat them. Worth it.”

An exclamation of ‘that’s not true!’ crackles over the phone while Josh bursts into laughter. He gets a round of scolding and muffled pleas to shut up; he pictures Chris ducking his face into the neck of a hoodie, ears bright red.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, you’re just a guy who loves your fries and mayo. Nothing wrong with that. Perfectly legal,” Josh says. “Anyway...you’re gonna be at the airport?”

“Are you cool with that?”

“You kidding? More than cool,” he says.  

“Okay, then...yeah, I’m gonna be at the airport.”

“Sweet.”

“Definitely.” Chris’ breathing fills the line for a few seconds. “So I take it...you’re up for me, too?”

“Of fucking course I am, bro,” Josh says, feeling a swell of heat in his throat when Chris makes a happy noise. He smiles to himself, lifting one hand to his head to card through his hair. Even if his skin is trembling, the outline of his body is solid. This is real. He turns towards his phone as Chris clears his throat.

“I think you should give yourself more credit,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Chris says, softly. “Like I said at the fair: you’re not so bad yourself. You’re good, bro.”

He snorts. “Shut up,” he says. “I’m taking you down when I see you.”

“You know how much I like tackle-hugs…”

“Changed my mind. I’m staying here.”

“Gonna work on your rugged mountain man look? I won’t complain about that.”

“What the fuck, man,” Josh says under his breath as Chris’ staticy tittering rattles the speaker. “What’s wrong with you? Did you eat a truckload of sugar?”

“I...may have eaten a few pixie sticks during D&D today.”

“We banned you from pixie sticks.”

“Ash slipped me one,” Chris explains, “and then I figured out where she was getting them from. So I thought, why not? I’m happy to report that no one caught me. And now I got good news from you. I was _rewarded_ for my bravery.”

“You’re a dork,” he says.

“Uh, actually, I’m a white mage.”

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

“If you so desire,” Chris says.

“You’re a dork.”

“But you _like_ me,” Chris sing-songs, sounding much too pleased with himself.

“You’re on thin fucking ice.”

“I like living on the edge.”

“Right. ‘Hm, should I spice things up a bit with a sweater that has _elbow patches_? Is that too loud? Geez.’”

“Oh my God.”

“You’re lucky it looks good on you.”

Chris doesn’t respond; Josh knows he’s flustered. He wonders if Chris knows that he’s smirking.

“Y’know,” Chris says, after a moment, “this is the first time we’ve really talked in more than a week. That’s a long ass time.”

“Did you miss me?”

“Don’t be a jerk. Of course I did. Even when I was upset I missed you. A lot. Okay?”

“Okay.” Josh repeats the sentiment in his head, hopes Chris can hear it.

“Yeah. And as your best bro friend, I think you should probably go back to your tent,” Chris says.

Josh sits up to lean on his forearm. “You’re saying that very authoritatively. Which means something’s up.”

“You could say that.”  

“You a sleepy boy who needs to go beddy-bye?”

“No, smart guy,” Chris says. “Sam just texted me.”

“...Fuck,” he says, staring into the sky. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Nope. She said, ‘where the hell is Josh.’”

His phone buzzes against his ear and he checks it quickly. “Shit. I have a text, too.”

Chris hoots with delight. “What’d she say?”

“She said…‘where the hell are you.’”

“You should probably tell her where the hell you are.”

“You think?”

“Dude, if you don’t, she _will_ find you.”

“Dammit. That wine was supposed to put her out.”

“You got her drunk to do this?!”

“We were drinking way before I found this place, alright? Don’t make me out to be all nefarious and shit.”

“Uh-huh, okay. Answer her before she teleports behind you and activates her Final Smash.”

“I will, I will,” Josh says. “Damn, though. I was hoping to be here longer.”

“Mm. I mean, we haven’t made up for a week’s worth of not talking yet, but we got a dent out of the way. That’s better than nothing.”

“True.”

“We’ll have plenty of time to catch up,” Chris adds.

“Only a few more days.”

“It was great talking to you, Josh. I’m… Okay, sorry...” and Chris sniffs wetly (which makes Josh’s heart burst and stops him from teasing), “I’m really glad you called.”

“Cut it out with that shit; bros don’t let bros cry,”  he says, pressing a knuckle into his eye until the pressure underneath relents. “And they definitely don’t _make_ them cry. Christ.”

“Sorry not sorry,” Chris says, sniffing again.

“Asshole.”

“Jerk.” Chris wipes his face with his sleeve, the hem of it rubbing against the phone. “Okay, I got another text from Sam. She says you better get moving or you’re really gonna be sorry.”

“Learn to read the moment, Sam. God.”

“She just wants to make sure you get home in one piece.”

“Or she wants to make sure she’s the one who gets to break me into _pieces_.”

Chris snorts.“Good one. ...You still gotta go, though.”

Josh sighs loudly. “Fine. I know when I’m not wanted.”

“No you don’t.”

He opens his mouth to protest. Closes it slowly as he flushes. “Touché,” he mumbles.

“I won’t hold it against you. ...For long.”

“Always so charitable.”

“When it matters. I’ll see you at the airport, dude,” Chris says, voice warm.

“See you at the airport.”

The moment he hangs up, the bones in his arm melt and he nearly drops his phone onto his face as he stares at the screen. His face hurts from the breadth of his smile. The stars have come out in full, shimmering behind his hand.

Another message from Sam pops up.

> Samwich: if you’re not back here in the next 10 minutes…

He curses under his breath and starts typing.

> Josh: go back 2 sleep
> 
>         and when u wake up I’ll be right where u thought I was supposed to be
> 
> Samwich: i’m giving you 15 minutes, and then i’m going to find you
> 
> Josh: most terrifying game of hide n seek starts now
> 
> Samwich: seriously josh! do you need any help?
> 
> Josh: don’t u worry ur pretty little head, i’m going now
> 
>         also why tf u always have signal and i don’t
> 
> Samwich: :P the light will be on

Rubbing the soreness out of his back as he sits up, he sends a thumbs up to Chris and waits until he gets one back. He sends a chain of smiley faces to the chat he shares with his sisters, turns his phone off before they can start hammering him with questions.

Breathing in deep, he stands and sweeps his gaze over the lake. And then he whoops and hollers, his voice carrying long over the water.

(Hopefully Sam mistakes that for an animal and not him screaming bloody murder).

Other than slipping on the last stone down the rock piles and face-planting in the grass, he makes it down from the cliff unscathed No murderous bears, no hiker ghosts. Just a heart opening in his chest, everything inside him flowering into beating bouquets that make his fingers tingle with warmth. He wouldn’t be surprised if he started goddamn floating. Jesus, get a hold of yourself, Josh. Is that a bounce in your step? Bounce off a cliff why don’t you.

With only a few minutes to spare, the glow of the tent comes into view. He strolls towards it, clicking off his flashlight and tucking it into his pants pocket. His hands are trembling.

Alright, deep breath. Don’t look like a _complete_ goon.

Oh, fuck it.

Josh unzips the tent and peeks inside and makes a stupid noise and his face has to be a dead giveaway; the displeasure in Sam’s face shifts into softness, and it’s not unlike the slip of an alpenglow over a cool mountain.

“You…” she says, her eyes widening.  

“I told him,” Josh says, grinning, and he falls inside to meet her embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: while sam and josh are hiking a real trail, i did take a few liberties with how a few things are situated. look up the Skoki Loop if you want an idea of where they are! 
> 
> anyway, until next time, and hope you enjoyed this chapter! :3


	7. Chapter 7

Sam chews him out, of course, after their initial celebration, but he told him. (He tries to listen, really he does).

It takes him hours to fall asleep, longer than usual, but he told him. (Going to bed when you have stars in your chest? Next to impossible).

He nearly burns their breakfast and half his hand in the morning, but _he told him_. (God. Is he going to be like this all day?)

Snow gets down his shirt during an impromptu snowball fight as they double back on the loop and he’s sore as hell even after a long, long soak when they reach their hotel in the evening.

Not a word out of him. Why? Because. He. Told him. It takes more restraint than necessary to stop himself from yelling out loud, and his face hurts from intermittent grinning.

“Are you coming down with something?” Sam asks, as they head out of their hotel for dinner. “Your face was randomly getting pink today and you...look a little woozy right now.”  

He stops walking, she stops walking.

Okay, he can only be so generous. He coughs on her until she leaves him alone.  

*

The summit of Sulphur Mountain is composed more of a crush of people than it is a winding ridge, its boardwalks thick with tourists milling around and ogling the surrounding mountain range. There’s noise, to be sure: kids trying to make echoes, cameras clicking, the undulating buzz of conversation, wood squeaking underfoot. At this altitude, though, the wind takes precedence, and the sky has the kind of intensity in hue that wards off sound.

It took them a solid two hours to get up here, their time spent meandering back and forth on hiker-filled switchbacks threading underneath the path of the mountain’s gondola system. He might have had something to say on any other day, starting with the fact that Sam had an interesting sense of what qualified as ‘resting’ on a rest day. His brain fails to conjure up anything sharp. Only cloud-edged, wispy things. Nothing the heat of embarrassment can touch, and so his thoughts float away.

Josh watches as a bucket hat goes twirling into the air, loops in wide circles, and that’s exactly what his heart’s been doing for the last twelve hours. It’s probably not good for him. It’s the kind of thing you should call your doctor about if it persists for more than four hours, but he can’t even begin to contemplate getting medical advice, much less listen to it. He sighs and buries his chin into his hand. The view is wide and crisp from his spot on an outcrop by the mountain’s preserved weather station, flowing peaks resembling white-tipped waves as he follows them with his eyes. The town of Banff is a tiny grid outlined with rivers, easy to miss in the sprawl of green.

“Sam to Mr Heart Eyes, are you there?”

“Hm?” Josh turns his head.

Sam raises a brow as she crouches next to him, folding her arms over her knees. “You’re usually more creative than that.”

“Lay off,” he says, his voice muffled behind his fingers as he turns away.

“It’s okay,” she says, patting his leg, “I won’t tell anybody about this.”

“Y’know, people are gonna get the wrong idea about us if you keep doing that.”

She stops, although not without trying to smack him first.

He successfully wards off the attack by thrusting out his arm to block her. “Hey, _hey_ , I need that. Take out your pent-up aggression on something more deserving.”

“So you want me to aim for your...head? Is that it?”

“I need that, too.”

“To what, keep hearts from flying around? Could maybe be doing a better job then.”

“Those are black flies, Sam. Might wanna think about getting your eyes checked.”

“Likewise,” Sam says, showing on her phone a picture of him from behind, heart stickers tacked on around his pensive pose and oh my God what the hell.

He takes it in for about a millisecond before switching to staring at her. “You’re deleting that,” he says.

“But it’s just so darn _cute_ ,” Sam says, pulling away from him before he can retaliate.

“Flattery won’t get you shit.”

“Can I at least send it to—”

“D’you wanna get killed by an avalanche? Because when Hannah starts squealing, that’s what’ll happen. And I hear it’s not the best way to go.”

That gets a snort rather than abject terror. “I’m sure she’s all squealed out from last night.”

Does Sam not know about snow immersion death? “You’re underestimating her. Also, did you _have_ to put them on speakerphone?”

“ _You’re_ the one who refused to pick up your phone.”

“Because I value my eardrums and they don’t need to be blown out by anyone. Not even my kid sister, alright?”

“I had them on the lowest volume,” Sam laughs.

“I know. Did Beth even say anything? Couldn’t hear a freaking thing.”

“‘Took you long enough, loser.’”

Feigning shock, he reels back and raises a brow. “Jesus, Sam. Don’t feel like pretending to like me anymore?”

“No, that’s what _Beth_ _said_ —hey!” Sam grabs at the air as Josh snatches her phone and flits away, cackling all the while.

He rounds the station, working fast while slipping through the crowds. Here, here, and here. There we go. Photo banished. Crisis averted. Just as he relaxes, Sam appears from the opposite side of the building at top walking speed. The phone goes to his ear as he gestures to it with a disbelieving expression and dodges around her.

“Can you believe how shitty the reception is up here?” he asks, turning his back to her to prevent her from grabbing his arm. “Kind of embarrassing, really. I mean, I think it’s even better up at the lodge.”

Sam pauses. “There isn’t any reception at the lodge.”

“Exactly my point,” Josh says as he leans against the wall of the observatory with a smirk, loosening his grip so that Sam can yank the phone away from his face.

She notes the disappearance of the photo and scoffs. “If you wanted me to delete it, you could’ve just asked nicely.”

Josh scoffs right back. “Yeah, right. I saw that naughty glint in your eye.”

“Right.”

“Still think you’re all innocent, huh? You’re not.” He pushes off from the observatory and folds his arms behind his head. “Drop the act already, Sammy, s’not a good look.”

Sam watches him, smiling.

Blinking, Josh lowers his hands and tilts his head. “I said drop the act, not your brain. What’s with the face?”

“Well,” she says, walking past him towards the narrow incline joining the observatory to the boardwalks, “I wasn’t going to ask if I could send the picture to your sisters.”

He follows, matching her pace. “What?”

“I was going to ask if I could send it to _Chris_ , you goober.”

“Who the fuck is Chris?” he blurts out, ignoring the looks he gathers from more than a few concerned tourists passing with their children. “Don’t know him.”

Sam bites her lip, shaking her head. “What’d I say? So darn cute. You should _really_ see your face right now, Josh.”

“Shut _up_ ,” he mumbles, cheeks burning as he rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Christ, nevermind. You’re a hundred percent evil and you definitely know it.”

“I learned from the best,” Sam says.

“Thank you, Sam, I appreciate the sentiment, I do, but that’s not gonna fly here right now. Not when you just implied that you wanted to defame my character in front of…some...huge nerd.”

“If he’s a huge nerd, then what would it matter?”

“‘Cause,” he says.

“‘Cause?”

“Y’know…” Josh says, turning to a more relaxed gait, “there’s an even quicker way off the mountain than the gondola.”

“Really.”

“Uh-huh. It involves me picking you up and—!” Josh swoops down and makes a mock attempt at lifting Sam over his shoulder, getting a gasp out of her before she starts laughing and shoving him away. She holds his arms down, walking backwards to counter his steps. He entertains her while grinning wide, giving pushback but not enough to overpower her. “Nice moves, Sam” he says. “You’d definitely get to the end of a horror movie. Well, until you fall down some rickety stairs and crack your head open.”

Sam doesn’t let go of him until he uses his eyes to indicate that yes, there are stairs behind her. She relents as Josh chuckles.

“Atta girl,” he says.  “Now you’ll be in the sequel.”

“Don’t focus on my movie. What about yours?”

“My movie? ...Think of it as _The Ring_. I’m destined to be murdered in four days and there’s not a thing I can do about it unless I get someone to take my place.” He continues when Sam lifts a brow. “I’m _kidding_. I can do this. I’m gonna crush it.”

“Good. That’s what I wanna hear.”

“D’you also wanna hear about how I want to barf my brains out?”

“Save that for later. Please.”

“For later? When we’re on the plane?”

Sam shivers. “Absolutely not.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s a completely figurative feeling,” Josh says. In a dark tone he adds, “For now.”

“Let’s work on keeping it that way? For now _and_ for later?”

“That’s why we’re heading to the gondola, right? Nothing like the sensation of your stomach dropping to settle your nerves.”

Sam blocks him with her arm. “Are you really okay?”

He rolls his eyes and, leaning his weight on one leg, makes a show out of grabbing her wrist and moving it out of the way before veering around her opposite side to get past. “Considering all the bullshit that’s happened,” Josh replies, “I am surprisingly okay.”

“We can always walk back down,” Sam says. “It was pretty easy going up.”

Josh thinks of fir trees hemming them in, an inescapable course, a downward incline forcing their toes to the fronts of their shoes, and boy, is that ever an awful idea. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think on a _rest day_ you try to do as little shit as possible.”

“We already broke the rule, so does it really matter now?”

He hopes his look of incredulity, the way his hands move from his forehead to a gesture towards the sky, is clear. “I get it, Samantha, you’re a freaking beast. And while I do have some _excellent_ physical qualities, eight days of non-stop hiking is kind of pushing it. This isn’t in your vocabulary, but you need to chill out. Think you can do that?”

“You’re asking for a lot,” Sam says.

“Just for enough to survive the day. Don’t be cruel.”

She lets out an airy hum. “I guess that can be manageable.”

“Sweet,” Josh says. “We’re taking the gondola.”     

*

Josh has always appreciated the cable car up at Blackwood. Its mid-century style is charming against the backdrop of the mountains, and though they make sure to maintain it throughout the year, they can never get rid of its shake and tremble as it rumbles between the trees. The first few times he’d been given the privilege to operate it, he’d indulged in dramatic routines about how the cables were probably going to snap and that death was imminent (his parents had loved it for any clients they happened to bring up. His friends? Not so much). The system here is smoother, shinier, more modern. Clearly not tailored towards troublemakers, but he doesn’t mind. He can kick back and relax, enjoy the view of the town inching ever closer. Sam sits on the same side as him, snapping photos and leaning against the glass.

Sitting in a little bubble reminds Josh of the fair, and the ferris wheel, and the multi-colour lights, and Chris’ hand, and the fact that Chris had also thought about their hands together. He melts into his memories, sights and sounds and smells surrounding him, the comfortable haze of a summer evening. The sun streaming inside makes things no better, softening him further before he remembers he has a travelling companion. He pushes himself upright again, thankful for Sam’s obliviousness. He can’t, however, push his thoughts away. They crowd around him like messages in bottles, some older than others. He can’t resist plucking up each one and reliving the past with fresh eyes.  

“Hey,” he says, stretching his arms along the back of the seat, “have I ever told you the story of how Chris and I—”  
Sam sighs loudly, beaming and gazing out the window.

He narrows his eyes. “What?”

She doesn’t answer, lips curling to stifle a giggle.

“Sam.” He kicks her foot. Twice for good measure.

She kicks him back. “Okay, _okay,_ ” she says. “Have I ever told _you_...that Chris asks me the same thing almost every time we go up to the lodge? If I know about how you two met?”

Whoa, whoa, whoa. He draws his arms back in, blinking. “...He does?”

“And do you know when he asks?” Sam uses her index finger to point out a passing cabin. “When we’re riding the cable car.”

Even gnawing into his lip can’t stop him from grinning. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“What the hell,” he says, slumping against his seat and running his fingers through his hair. “Nah. Nah, you’re lying.”

“Nope. I could probably recite the whole thing by memory now.”

Josh raises his hands and drops them into his lap.  

“You should see how excited he gets,” Sam adds, “even though he tells it the same way _every_ single time.”

“ _Fuck_ , Sam,” Josh grumbles. He slumps even lower and pulls up the collar of his shirt over his face, muffling Sam’s laughter and his own speech. “I didn’t know you had it in you to fucking murder people. Are you filming this right now? Did you call everyone over to meet us at the bottom so they can witness a case of spontaneous combustion?”

“I am _so_ sorry,” Sam says, “but I _have_ to tell Han and Beth about this. Can I?”

“You’re not doing that.”

“Please?”

He peeks out of his shirt. “Abso-fucking-lutely not. I won’t hear the end of it. It’s already a disaster with you here. And when the three of you get in on something… No. Not happening.” And back into his shirt he goes.

“Of course it’s fine when _you_ …”

“Is this what you’re into, Sam? Humiliation? Look, m’not in the business of kinkshaming, but I’m not interested. You can hash out this sort of thing with someone else. I’m flattered, really I am, it’s just not my thing and I’m almost certain you’re in a—”

“I’m sorry. I can’t talk to you like this.” Sam puts a hand to her temple. “Are you going to fix your shirt?”

“Changing the subject, Sammy.”

“Josh,” Sam says, only half-serious.

“Is that what you want? Truly?”

“Yes.”

“Done.” He pokes his head out and pulls down the hem of his shirt, tends to his hair. “I’m only available for one charitable request per day. You just used it up. No story time for Sammy.”

“Here’s to hoping I won’t regret that.”

“You won’t.”

“Hm.”

“Great. I’m glad we could come to an understanding.”

“Me too,” Sam deadpans, as their cabin slows and slides into the terminal.   

*

> Han: :3
> 
> Beth: :3
> 
> Josh: 83  
> 
> Han: *SQUEAL*
> 
> Josh: pls. my ears are still ringing
> 
> Beth: oh u think YOUR ears are still ringing
> 
> Han: hey….
> 
> Josh: it’s a good, melodious ringing
> 
> Beth: yes
> 
> Han: :3
> 
> Josh: and beth don’t think ur also not to blame
> 
> Beth: :3
> 
>         so what’re u up to, dear brother?
> 
>         other than looking like a goon?
> 
> Han: a goon with heart eyes
> 
> Beth: big ol’ heart eyes
> 
> Josh: big and juicy
> 
> Beth: omg shut up
> 
> Josh: no
> 
> Han: u can’t tell love to shut up!
> 
> Josh: that’s right. han knows what the fuck is up
> 
>         WAIT WTF i thought that said josh
> 
> Beth: awwwwwwww
> 
> Josh: NO
> 
> Han: josh it’s soooo obvious just bc u don’t say it doesn’t mean it’s not truueeeee
> 
>         and we’re your sisters so u can’t argue against this >:)
> 
> Josh: why does that face look so demonic
> 
> Beth: k we’ll change the subject 4 now
> 
> Josh: ur gonna ask about sam
> 
> Beth: what’s Sam up to?
> 
> Han: hehehe
> 
> Josh: hehehe
> 
> Beth: …
> 
> Josh: anyway
> 
>          ur lovely gf is currently canoeing around a lake
> 
>          that’s why she hasn’t answered ur 1000 texts
> 
> Han: more like 2000 :P
> 
> Josh: lmfao true
> 
> Beth: :/
> 
> Josh: are we still low-balling it? is that why ur :/
> 
> Beth: hey han how many times do u think josh has tripped on his face since yesterday?
> 
> Josh: han don’t answer
> 
>         for the sake of the best brother in the world, don’t answer
> 
> Han: asdflakdjf
> 
> Josh: i’ll answer for u
> 
>         it’s obviously zero
> 
> Beth: ur fckin lying
> 
> Josh: no, ur just askin the wrong questions
> 
>         meanwhile, ur forgetting about that one time… at em’s beach party….
> 
> Han: ooooooooh i remember
> 
> Josh: We All Remember
> 
> Han: beth u smelled like pina colada for 3 days straight
> 
> Beth: worst siblings ever = YOU GUYS. GRAAAH
> 
> Josh: u mean best ever wtf
> 
>         i freakin carried u out as if u were an injured marine, i got u to safety
> 
> Han: and i brought you water. soooo much water. and an ice pack!
> 
> Beth: i hate this why did you remind me…
> 
> Josh: we are legally required to do this, me especially
> 
> Han: hey hey
> 
>         remember when chris ordered your Perfect Pizza without any mistakes and you turned So Red that  
> 
>         everyone thought u were choking so you actually pretended to do that so u could leave the room?
> 
> Josh: WTF HANNAH
> 
> Beth: I REMEMBER THAT PERFECTLY HAHAHA
> 
>          thank you haaan <3
> 
> Han: ur welcome <3
> 
> Josh: i thought everyone bought that UFCK
> 
> Han:  everyone except beth n me but don’t worry your secret is safe!!!
> 
> Beth: it was a goddamn pizza
> 
> Josh: THE Perfect Goddamn Pizza, tyvm
> 
>          and it was faithfully recreated without my interference
> 
>          it was beautiful
> 
> Beth: mmkay
> 
> Han: cuteeee
> 
> Josh: no
> 
> Beth: so i have a question, unrelated
> 
> Josh: shoot
> 
>         me in the face
> 
> Beth: …
> 
> Josh: ok just shoot
> 
> Beth: how are you making sure that my gf stays safe if ur here and she’s out canoeing
> 
>          u do know that if Anything happens to her i will make a horror movie out of you??
> 
> Josh: i am aware of this
> 
>         don’t worry, i can see her from here and i’m 69% sure she can swim
> 
>         she should be watching me tbh and i’m just sittin on a dock doing jack
> 
> Han: u didn’t wanna join?
> 
> Josh: i did but i am so freaking tired you don’t even know
> 
>         sam’s got a looot of stamina, right beth??
> 
> Han: josh don’t be weird -_-
> 
> Josh: ur weird
> 
> Beth: seriously
> 
> Josh: ok okkkkk
> 
>         anyway she’s on her way back so i’ll be joining her for a quick lap
> 
>         she’ll prolly send pics of us and i ask that u withhold ur awe and admiration
> 
> Beth: for the fact that u figured out how to put on a life jacket properly?
> 
> Josh: yes. yes that is what i meant
> 
> Beth: k just checking
> 
> Han: stay safe!
> 
> Josh: i will try, just 4 u
> 
> Han: and for chris!!
> 
> Beth: yeah don’t forget about chwistopher <3
> 
> Han: chwis hawtweyyyyy <3
> 
> Josh: good fucking BYE

*

When Sam takes the canoe back to the docks, bumping lightly against the empty ones tethered there, Josh reels her in and boards at the stern. Handling his oar with a little less grace than he’d hoped for but encouraged by Sam’s reminders, he sets them on their way again. It’s been ten years, okay? Ten years ago he sat at the bow, manoeuvring with all the elegance of a boy with spaghetti noodles for arms. He’s doing better, and, with a view like Lake Louise in front of him, can afford imperfection.

Dense evergreens hem in most of the lake, its far end capped with a chain of six mountains converging on a talus. Their collective size generates a sense of awe hard to ignore, a surreality amplified by the milky turquoise of the water. Lake Louise has an iridescence to it, lended by the mountain shadows that fall over its surface. Even with so many people criss-crossing in their own canoes and a hotel chateau on the lakeside opposite, it maintains its allure. Josh almost forgets to launch his attack, carried away as he is by the scenery. Well, better late than never.

“So,” he asks, as he steers the canoe away from a mass of fallen trunks, “did you get 1000 or 2000 texts from Beth?”

“Huh?” He listens to Sam unzip a pocket on her jacket and tap away for a moment, wait, tap away again. She huffs loudly. “You were being mean to my girlfriend? And Hannah joined in? That’s what happens when I leave you alone for thirty minutes?”

“C’mon, Sammy, you know there’s rules.”

“I don’t think you’re required to enforce them.”

“Uh, I definitely am. And I could’ve got up to a lot more if it wasn’t for you, you meddling kid.”

“Oh, I can imagine. If this was enough to sway Hannah…”

“Let me elaborate.”

“...Please don’t.”

“And if I do?” Allowing the canoe to drift, he glances over his shoulder.

“Well, you just might spend the rest of the trip with pneumonia,” Sam replies, tucking her phone away into her jacket.

“Ooh.” He wiggles his shoulders. “Are you threatening me right now, Sammy? I just got a shiver down my spine.”

“Try sticking your hand in the water.”

“Why, did you?”

Sam makes the mistake of shaking her head, doesn’t catch herself before Josh raises his oar to splash her He’s courteous enough to ensure that it isn’t carrying that much water. It doesn’t change the fact that the water is as icy as it looks.  

“Agh! What the hell!” she yells, drawing up her shoulders, but with an unparalleled reaction time she launches her own attack and nabs his neck.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Was it water she threw at him or _knives_? A shudder bolts down his back and there is no other way to deal with this than digging his oar into the water and really letting her have it.

And that’s how it goes for three or four exchanges, each one worse than the last. By the end, they’re soaked and shaking, both from laughter and the chill of glacial water. Their hands are pink and white-knuckled, there’s water sloshing around their feet, and it’s a wonder that neither of them took a tumble. The rest of their jaunt features chattering teeth and a lazy canoe, the sun drying them at a pace slower than they would prefer. Everyone they pass gives them more than a momentary stare (Josh responds more than once by winking).    

“How’re you doing back there, Sammy?” he asks loudly, wiping his brow as they float towards a talus. Shelves of rock tower above them, cloaking them in shade.

“Doing great,” Sam replies. “Can we get back into the sun please?”

He gives the canoe one good push forward and lays the oar across his lap, turns to her. “I just didn’t want you to feel left out, y’know? If I’m gonna be hacking a lung out, you should, too.”

“If I so much as sneeze when we’re out,” Sam says, squeezing her hands together, “you’re gonna get it.”

Eyebrows up. “I’m gonna get it?”

“Yep.”

“Huh.” He nods. “Never gotten it in the middle of the woods before.”

Sam makes an incredulous sound. “Oh my God. How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“It doesn’t matter what anyone says, you twist it and turn it into—”

“I personally prefer to pull it—”

“Do you remember the rule we established? Just a few days ago?”

“That wasn’t so much a rule as it was a suggestion. And today’s a _rest day_ , if you forgot.” Josh takes up his oar again and directs them towards the centre of the lake. “So rules, suggestions, all that stuff? They mean _nothing_.”

“...I guess you can’t really argue against that,” Sam says.   

“Nope.”

“Have you improved your tent-making skills yet?”

“Why?”

“I just think that you should show everyone what you’ve learned these last few days. So we should definitely get some footage of you putting one up and…”

“I can do that no problem. Easy. Piece of cake.”

“Okay.”

“But I won’t.”

“And why’s that?”

“I know bait when I see it.”

“Bait.”

“You’re gonna try something on me. And it’s gonna backfire. I just don’t want you to embarrass yourself in front of all our friends, y’know? Like, if it were off camera...maybe I’d consider it. But if _everyone_ could see? I’m not that much of an asshole.”

“What do you think I’m going to do?”

“I don’t want to find out what you’re capable of,” Josh says. “I know too much already. Honestly, I might not even make it to tomorrow. Water’s fucking cold, huh?”

“I am taking the hottest bath when we get back to hotel.”

“God, same. Gonna have chills all night ‘cause of you.”

“I did this all by myself?”

“ _I_ just wanted to have a little fun,” Josh says, “and _you_ had to turn it into a competition.”

“Well, why don’t we start over then?”

“That’s what you wanna do, huh?”

“Yep.”

“And how do we do that?” He makes himself sound genuine, but he knows.

Josh yelps and doubles over as Sam splashes him. He peers over his shoulder at her. He doesn’t see any innocence in that face. Just anticipation, the same glint Sam gets in her eyes when she’s about to scale a rock wall. And there they go again, whipping water at each other and undoing all their efforts to dry off. They stop only when they near the dock again, at least aware enough to avoid involving any unfortunate passersby. Of course, the fact that they’re soaked and giggling their heads off affords them a bit more space.   

A wide splatter of droplets hit the wood as Josh shakes off like a dog when they disembark, while Sam stands near the edge to wring out her hair. She has the brief presence of mind to snag a selfie and capture them at their finest moment, fingers leaving trails on the screen as she navigates. Stumbling into each other to crowd behind the viewfinder, they try to focus and end up looking a little wild. The picture turns out blurry despite multiple attempts. No matter. They like what they choose and the group chat _loves_ it.

“Have fun?” an attendant asks, gathering up their sopping jackets and setting them aside rather than hanging them back up on the rack.

“For sure,” Sam answers, giving her hair another squeeze.  

“Absolutely,” Josh adds. “I’m still _really_ , really we—ow!”

Sam doesn’t let him finish, lightly elbowing him in the stomach instead. Of course, he can pretend that she punctured his intestinal tract.

Before the adrenaline wears off completely they speed walk back to the car, leaving a splotchy trail behind them as their clothes continue dripping. Sam still has it in her to actually challenge him to a race once they’re in the parking lot; he ignores her up until the last second when he lunges for the car and declares victory. The reality of having wet clothes sticking to their skin sets in, but they’re still in good spirits as they towel off and change into new sets of clothes, laughing all the while.

*

They spend the late afternoon in Johnston Canyon after heading back to town for lunch, basking in a more thorough heat that radiates off cliff sides, seeps into them with the consistency of honey. It swallows up the last bits of cold clinging to their skin. Mist hangs in the air where the iron catwalks pass close to waterfalls, tickling the hairs on Josh’s arms. The path mediates between clinging to the steep walls of the canyon, tunneling through the limestone, and passing over deep pools adjacent to the creek rushing through. All throughout, the scent of fir trees and moss wafts.    

After braving the initial crowds and venturing long enough to shed most of them, they slow down for a rest. Josh steps up onto the railing to sit, rock cool against his shoulder blades. Sam leans on the railing opposite to him, alternating between taking photos and busying herself with texting. He wrangles out his own phone and notices (1) New Message. The panic of a week ago is nothing compared to the brightness in his chest he feels now.

> Hartstopper: has it really only been a day?
> 
> Josh: yes, unfortunately
> 
> Hartstopper: welp
> 
>                      feels like so much longer doesn’t it?
> 
> Josh: 1000 years
> 
> Hartstopper: yeah, srsly
> 
>        whatcha up to?
> 
> Josh: sittin around talking to some loser with glasses
> 
> Hartstopper: omg omg i’ve been upgraded from nerd to loser!!
> 
> Josh: u consider that an upgrade?
> 
> Hartstopper: well yeah
> 
>         bc now we’re on equal footing
> 
>         and you will no longer be shunned if you talk to me
> 
> Josh: :|
> 
> Hartstopper: this is a joyous occasion
> 
> Josh: dude. srsly. no more pixie sticks
> 
> Hartstopper: :3c
> 
> Josh: and no more stealing. that’s my face
> 
> Hartstopper: >:3c
> 
> Josh: >:3€
> 
> Hartstopper: :Oc
> 
> Josh: got my claws out fucker
> 
> Hartstopper: spare me pls
> 
> Josh: gimme one good reason why i should do that
> 
> Hartstopper: bc how else will you stay awake in lectures if i’m not there to provide u with the Most Sophisticated Entertainment?
> 
> Josh: dude. i had to wake You up almost every time, plus ur not taking any psych courses with me this semester
> 
> Hartstopper: dammit
> 
> Josh: and by sophisticated entertainment u mean memes that only u understand
> 
> Hartstopper: not my fault that u don’t have an eye for art
> 
> Josh: if that’s what it means to have an eye for art then i’m fine being blind
> 
> Hartstopper: :c bro
> 
> Josh: :3
> 
> Hartstopper: welp guess i’ll die ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Josh: wow. that was so sad.
> 
> Hartstopper: i know right??
> 
> Josh: i guess i’ll spare u
> 
> Hartstopper: so gracious
> 
> Josh: yup
> 
> Hartstopper: ok so what’re you doing for reals?

He takes a shot of the waterfall before him, including a little silhouette of Sam in the corner. He attaches a few other photos of the trail, providing a sample of his best shots. Sure, he’d rather settle down in the director’s chair. Cinematography, though? He’s not half bad at it.

> Josh: hanging out here before we lay waste to the town
> 
> Hartstopper: ooooh….this is so uncharted i love it
> 
> Josh: not following
> 
> Hartstopper: dude…. Uncharted?? Nathan Drake???? Video Game???????
> 
> Josh: ….i can’t talk to you anymore
> 
> Hartstopper: yeah idk, the fact that u made that fatal error? just. ugh. bye
> 
> Josh: bye
> 
> Hartstopper: no wait
> 
>        dude
> 
>        are you actually gone lol
> 
> Josh: (=^・w・^)ﾉ＝＝＝Θ☆(x＿x)!!
> 
> Hartstopper: omg bro...you spent 10 mins on that for me….?
> 
> Josh: scrolled thru 5 pgs for this thing
> 
> Hartstopper: :’)
> 
> Josh: ok ok that’s enough
> 
> Hartstopper: not really, no
> 
> Josh: i’m leaving now
> 
> Hartstopper: did i embarrass u that much?
> 
> Josh: yeah blood’s leakin out my ears and everything
> 
> Hartstopper: u might wanna get that looked at??
> 
> Josh: nah we’re all good
> 
> Hartstopper: ok good
> 
>                     i gotta jet now actually
> 
> Josh: gotta go to ur dicks & dragons thing right
> 
> Hartstopper: idk what ur club is like but mine is a liiil different
> 
> Josh: lmao
> 
> Hartstopper: 4 more days right??
> 
> Josh: yuuup how hype are u?
> 
> Hartstopper: extremely
> 
> Josh: good. :3
> 
> Hartstopper: :3
> 
> Josh: i’ll ttyl
> 
> Hartstopper: later!!

“Are you done breathing down my neck?” Josh asks, rolling his eyes as he turns to Sam.

“You scrolled through more than five pages,” she says, sliding off from her perch next to him. She sat there for that long? And he didn’t notice? Great. Fantastic. Life is over. Goodbye, world.

“Five pages on the site I found,” Josh says. “Don’t get it twisted.”

“Right…”

“Right. Let’s get going, if you’re done making kissy faces at your phone.”

“You’ll be there soon,” Sam says lightly. “Don’t you worry.”

“Barf.”

“You will.”

“I will barf; that is absolutely true.”

“No, I mean you’ll…”

It goes back and forth between them for a few turns, Josh keeping his eyes forward and deflecting Sam’s incessant jabs (thankfully figurative, not physical). He’s not going to follow in Sam’s footsteps, he’s not, and if he repeats it enough times it won’t come true. He can’t deny, though, that the fact that that prospect even exists? That it’s a real option?

Well, he can go for that.

*

Evening comes faster than expected. After leaving their car at the expected end of their hike, a viewpoint off the main highway, they head back to a Banff glowing with orangey sunlight. Cascade Mountain sits tall to the north, ribbonned with snow over its peak, nestled in a lush bed of sloping forests. The view lines up with the boulevard, always looming behind the columns of shops and restaurants.

Tourists emerge in full swing and roam the sidewalks, patios flush with chatter and music. The softness of the light and the street lamps brings a nostalgic touch, something warm and unreal. Not much has changed from his last visit, if anything, other than his having a much better travelling companion and the ability to drain a glass of something other than orange juice.

Trawling souvenir stores, they gather up a few small items for the gang back home; tree bark pencils with engraved names (Sam sends a picture of them all together, balanced on her’s and Josh’s splayed hands), keychains, weird figurines, plushies for Josh’s sisters to add to their veritable collection back home.

“Okay, okay,” Josh says, turning on his heel as they stroll between racks of clothing, “I have an idea.”

“Should I be worried?” Sam asks.

“You should be absolutely terrified,” Josh replies.

“Oh, okay.” The tension in Sam’s shoulders drops.

He stops walking, effectively blocking her from progressing. “That’s the complete opposite reaction I had in mind.”

“I get more worried when you say I _shouldn’t_ be worried about something,” Sam says. “So whatever this is, it’s probably not going to be that bad.”

“Huh.” He runs his hands across a swathe of shirts. “Then maybe I should shake things up a bit. Keep you guessing. Sounds like fun, right?”

Sam slides past him, lifting his arm over her head. “Now _that’s_ terrifying.”

He follows behind, batting at the stray pieces of hair hanging from her bun. “There we go. Ambience established. Good, good, good.”

“Are you ready to share your idea now?” Sam busies herself with inspecting some shorts.  

“I am,” Josh says, standing beside her. “All I was gonna say is that we should pick out a shirt or something for each other. I get one for you; you get one for me. To commemorate this trip. Is that so wrong, Sam? Huh? Am I not allowed to show a little kindness and goodwill towards my friends?”

“Hmm…” Sam peers around at the various articles on display. Josh leans forward and rests his chin on his folded arms while she goes about her business, following her changing line of sight. “Okay. Everything looks safe. We can do this.”

“Thank you for the seal of approval,” Josh says, and he yanks a shirt off the rack next to him. “Here you go, Sammy.”

Sam gapes at the shirt, brows knitted, and he knows in her head she’s thinking ‘where the hell did he get that from?’ “‘Finally, some lean...meat?’” she says.

The shirt positions the phrase above two hikers in a patchy forest, a pair of glowing eyes in the bush behind them. A requisite silhouette of Cascade Mountain fills the background, with ‘Banff’ in small capital letters lining the bottom.

Josh peeks over the collar and smirks. “Does this not get you going or what? My knees are getting weak just holding it.”

“Am I a hiker or the creep in the bushes?”

“Would you like my honest, unadulterated opinion?”

“Yes.”

“You’re obviously the creep in the bushes.”

Sam takes the shirt from him and studies it. She’s waiting for him to elaborate; he’s more than happy to provide.

“I mean, all those days and nights of vegan bacon and unseasoned tofu? You’re gonna crack, Sam, and it isn’t gonna be pretty. Gonna be like, an _American Werewolf in London_ situation. You’re gonna go fucking bananas and chow down on the first sad sack of meat you see, just tear ‘em apart like they’re a Christmas present.”

“Wow.”

“You know I’m spot on. Shit, I could make a screenplay out of this. _Bloodmouth_. And the tagline could be: ‘Watch out. _She’s bloody good with her mouth_.’”

“Oh my God…” Sam says absently, burying her face in the shirt. .

“That was good, right?” Josh starts giggling when he sees Sam’s shoulders shake as she tries to hide her own amusement.

“That was really bad, Josh. Really, _really_ bad,” Sam whispers, straightening out to wander off towards some shelves along a wall. She’s still holding the shirt, folding it so it fits better in her hand. “You know,” she says, “the movie would be better if you were the star.”

“Yeah? How do you figure?”

“It could be ironic. You’d be poking fun and warning other people against becoming a... _bloodmouth_ , but halfway through find out that you’re the one who’s turning.” Josh considers the rewrite, nodding, and Sam continues. “You already referred to yourself as one. So that’d be the spark for the—”

“For the homicidal _fire_ . Nice subversion, Sammy! I like it. I _would_ make a pretty sweet cannibal monster. I think you’ve just solidified my Halloween plans for this year.”

“Happy to be of service...I think?”

“So now the tagline is ‘ _he’s_ bloody good with his mouth.’ Which definitely checks out, if you were wondering.”

“You couldn’t even pay me to wonder about that.”

“Guess you got better mou—” Josh cuts himself off before Sam can say anything, jamming his teeth into his lip.

She nods.

He remains on his best behaviour as Sam roams the store, hands behind his back as he observes her. Okay, so maybe more than once he looms over her if she takes too long and he _maybe_ activates five singing fish at slightly different times and speed-walks his way out of suspicion, if only to scare the hell out of a couple trying to figure out how to turn one on (and, also, to nab a hilarious video of flopping fish for Chris). All things considered, he’s been an absolute angel. No one’s crying, nothing’s broken, and no one’s battling an aneurysm.

Sam sneaks up on him while he sifts through another rack, and he swings a shirt behind him as she presents her offering.

“This is very ‘you,’” she says.

Truly. Above a group of red-eyed mountain goats smoking together on a snowy peak is the phrase ‘Friends in High Places.’  

“Holy shit,” Josh says. “Yes. _Yes_. This...this is art.”

He takes the shirt from her with his left hand, which alerts Sam to the fact that his right is occupied. Dammit. She knows.

“Whatcha got there?” she asks.

“The shirt you just gave me.”

“No, no, you’re...you’ve got something back there. Lemme see.”

“S’not for you, Sam, chill out.”

That only inspires her to pester him further. “Not for me? Is it for you?”

“In a way.”

“Ooh.” Sam smiles, and she must have learned the Washington technique from Beth. “It’s for Chwis.”

“What the—why’s everyone doing that today? Did Han and Beth put you up to this?”

Sam giggle-snorts and he would point that out immediately if not for her getting in before him. “They didn’t, but now I wish they did so I could’ve started earlier.”

“No,” Josh says.

“Okay, fine, but can I at least see what you’re getting for him?”

“If it’ll stop your eyes from roving all over me.” He reveals the wrinkled shirt in his right hand.

‘May the Forest Be With You’ the shirt says, featuring classic Banff animals as _Star Wars_ characters with lightsabers abound, that familiar yellow font present in the ‘Banff, Alberta’ encased at the top like a title.

Sam puts a hand to her mouth. “Oh my gosh,” she says. “He’s going to _love it_.”

“Yeah, well, he’d better,” Josh mumbles, folding it up again.

“He’s going to wear it every day for at least a week.”

“God. He probably will.”

Sam sighs. “You guys are so, so cute.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, will you?”

“Pfft.”

Later, they indulge in a balcony dinner that overlooks the town. By now the sun has dipped below the mountains surrounding them, spurring on tourists to move to higher ground and capture the alpenglow. Luckily, they score their table before the rush and sidle up next to a railing burgeoning with flowers and fairy lights. Nothing too heavy in preparation for tomorrow. One drink for him _and_ one for Sam (thank you, Canadian drinking laws), light entrees and desserts of passable quality. Like everyone else, their main priority becomes conversation, and it’s that connection that enhances everything else.   

He’s had fun these last few days, of course, but emerging from beneath a week’s worth of guilt and apprehension tends to brighten your mood by a few notches. For the first time in a while, he can speak without weight.

Sam tips her glass forward. “To belated confessions?”

His glass goes forward, too. “To belated confessions.”    

*

Their final hike starts early, when a quiet sleepiness still embraces the town. They share the shuttle bus to the trailhead with just one family, their interest lying in a nearby mountain lodge.

Another access road awaits them, cumbersome as expected. Knowing that he can spend the time pondering what will happen when he comes home and that every passing minute brings him closer to actually experiencing it…well, he can’t say it’s relaxing, exactly, but it beats mulling over whether or not he had a future with his best friend.

Hm.

Okay, yeah. It is relaxing. And maybe a little embarrassing.

Who needs to know?   

*

They stare up at the evening sky on their second night, stretching their legs in front of Egypt Lake. Stars fill it, thick as spilled sugar. Even with hot chocolate and black bean rice in their stomachs, they need hoodies to keep them cozy; a breeze nips at their ears and pulls clouds towards the pyramidal mountains in the west that, slowly, like sheaves of cream, layer over the setting sun.  

“You wanna know something?” Josh asks.

“Sure,” Sam replies.

Grinning, he bounces a stone in his hand a few times before he skips it. “I told him.”

*

“Well, this is it, right?”  

“Sure is. How’re you feeling?”

“Stoked. Fucked up. Mostly stoked.” He leaps off a rock into the water, submerging himself completely before he comes up and wipes the water from his face.

Sam drifts around on her back, gently kicking her feet. “Still got the barfy feeling?”

“Would it not be the worst if I barfed all over his shoes? Just like, huge chunks. Airplane peanuts. The whole shebang.”

“It’d...certainly be memorable.”

“That it would.”

“...Please don’t barf on Chris’ shoes.”

“What if he voms on mine? What if we _both_ vom?”

“Shouldn’t we be talking about how adorable it’s going to be when you’re both running across the airport floor to each other?”

“No. No to this romcom bullshit. That is so not happening.”

“I think you secretly want it to happen.”

“If you want me to run at him, then I’m going to fucking...clothesline him or something.”

“With a hug?”

“No. Did you not hear me?”

“Did you say something?”

“You’re a funny one, y’know that? You got water in your ears.” Josh glides back towards the golden shoreline of the lake and clambers up onto a large rock, revelling in the sun sitting warm on his back as its heat spreads like melting butter.   

Their last campsite features access to several lakes in the area, gems scattered in mountainous cradles. A trek across bridged streams and blankets of wildflowers brings them to the lower counterpart of twin lakes, the descent taxing but ultimately rewarding as the view opens wide from the trees.

Before them, a rolling hill flush with green resembles a sleeping animal; its back soft with evergreens, it lays half-shaded beneath the headwall of an enormous mountain, offering its own half-shade upon the turquoise of the lake. They stay away from it, the water’s coolness still felt even with its shallowness and favourable positioning beneath the sun. Keeping close to the shoreline they arrived on, the sediment has a warmer, honeyed palette that tricks them for as long as they look at it. Except for the natural sounds of the forest, silence closes around them like a sheer curtain. Never imposing or absolute; a comforting presence. Even the lone waterfall descending from a deep groove in the rock is muffled as it slips into the lake.  

Sam moves towards the shore, bouncing on her feet until they can touch the bottom with ease. “I’m just really excited for you. Can you blame me?”

Pushing his hair back from his forehead, he clicks his tongue. “Of course I can. Who do you think I am?”

Sam hums as she floats away, arms lazy.

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Just like how I’m going to pretend I didn’t see you faceplant trying to put up a tent?”

“You didn’t.”

“Really.”

“I stumbled. And caught myself.”

“Interesting way of putting it.”

“Interesting _and_ accurate.”

Water laps up against her face as Sam chuckles, and she sputters for a moment before regaining balance.

“Laugh it up while you can, Sammy,” Josh says, but he smiles despite himself. He watches her backstroke far out into the lake, stop and look around, come back. “What the hell. How do you still have energy to do that?”

She dog-paddles until she reaches a rock adjacent to him that she can hold. “I dunno. Being out here just gives me that little boost. Don’t you feel it?”

“I mean, yeah. But whatever’s up with you is like. Nature Viagra or something.”

She furrows her brows.

“Sam Giddings. Giddy for that nature shit.”

“That was awful.”

“That was a solid eight out of ten and you know it.”

Laying her head down on the rock, she sighs. “Fine. Eight out of ten.”

Josh throws his hands in the air. “Eight out of ten! Hear that, friends and fans?”

“How about this whole trip?”

“Hm?”

“What would you rate this trip out of ten?”

“Excellent question, Sam.” Josh nods deeply, bringing up his knees and resting his outstretched arms over them. “S’not my usual style. Zero opportunities to get absolutely shit-faced or up to any unsavoury antics. Was super fucking stressful until only a few days ago…” He rubs his chin with one hand. “But I’d say this was a solid ten.”

“Me, too.”

“I thought just being out at the lodge and staring at rocks was enough to get _my_ rocks off,” he says, “but clearly I was wrong. This is some next level shit. Starting to see why you like this stuff so much.”

“Thinking of doing it again?”

“Sure. Whenever you’re game.”

“Well. You’ll have to get in line.”

“Line, huh? Who’re you…” Josh trails off, lifts his chin and smirks as he figures it out himself. “ _Ooh_. You wanna take _Beth_ some place nice. Am I right or am I right?”

Sam’s averted gaze says it all. And the way she collects her hair back and over one shoulder.

“Not even gonna try and deny it.” Josh pushes a small wave of water towards her with his foot, snickering. “Fuckin’ called it.”

“It was never really a secret,” Sam says, burying her chin in her hand to hide her embarrassment.  

“Ah ah ah, Sammy, you don’t get to go there with me. Give it to me straight, girl.”

She sighs. “I can’t do that.”

“Why’s that?”

Slow shrug. “Because I’m not...straight?”

Josh snorts, shaking his head. “Neither am I, but I’m sure you can manage it this one time.”

“...Okay. Fine. You’re right. I do want to take her out here.”

“Thank you for your cooperation. So, all this. Was this like, an extended way to prove that you’ve got the chops to do this?”

“If that were the case, wouldn’t I have to go through your dad?”

“No way. I’m the muscle.”

“The muscle?” she says, poking at his bicep. “Didn’t think you were so antiquated.”

“I’m simply continuing _your_ train of thought.”

“That _you_ started.”

He flicks water at her face. “Listen, my kid sisters deserve the best.”

“I agree.”

“And,” Josh says, leaning back onto his hands with an air of nonchalance, “I’d say...you fit the bill.”

Sam studies him. “Really.”

He studies her right back, lifts a brow. “You think I’m joking?”

“It’s hard to tell sometimes with you.”

“Fair enough. Gotta keep you guys humble, y’know?” He runs his fingers across the water, creating miniature tides. “I mean it, though. You’re cool.” When he doesn’t get an immediate response, he glances at Sam. She has on a smile. “What’s with the face?” he asks.

“That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve said about me that didn’t come with any strings attached.”

He narrows his eyes. “I didn’t say anything.”

Sam lets her face go slack. “Are you really trying that?” she deadpans.

“What’re you talking about? I think the heat’s gone to your head.”

“Oh my gosh,” Sam says. “You’re too much.”

“Isn’t that your favourite thing about me?”

She huffs and pushes away from the rock onto her back again, arms fluttering beneath the water.

“I’ll take that as a passionate _yes_.”

“In your dreams.”

Josh whistles low. “Nature Viagra strikes again.”

Needless to say, they get into yet another splash fight.

*

“So what _are_ you going to do when you see him?” Sam asks, when they’re bundled up in their tent warm and dry. “You haven’t really talked about that.”

Josh shrugs. “Honestly. I dunno.”

“I think that’s a first for you. You love planning things.”

“Yeah,” he says, working his jaw. “I’m...letting this one play out. Gonna see what happens.”

“Just one more day.”

“Seriously? That’s fucked up.”

“Mmhm. Chris knows he’s going to have to wake up really, _really_ early, right?”

“Yup.”

“And he’s still coming?”

“Far as I know.”

“Awww. _Josh_.”

“...Go to bed, Sammy.”  

*

Josh takes the driver seat of the rental on the way back to Banff, the windows open with crisp air threading through, Sam slumped over in the backseat and sandwiched between their packs as she uses her own like a pillow. No cell service out here, so no tapping of nails against glass. She periodically opens her eyes to look outside, work out the kinks in her neck. The ache of having trekked today for over twenty kilometres hasn’t yet reached him, but he knows that once he has the chance to relax, he’ll go out just like Sam. For now, though, he keeps his eyes on the road, a single asphalt lane.

It opens up periodically from hallways of green to curving stretches of highway flanked by trees on the left and to the right a mountainous landscape lush with summer, back again to green hallways. Not quite evening, the sun is a yolk in the sky that peeks from behind fluffy whites, sending out rays that stretch out into the valley and beyond.

In just a few hours they’ll board their plane, return to the metropolitan cacophony that is Los Angeles. And, for Josh, go back to square one. Or maybe it’s square two. Or maybe there isn’t a shape and a number for the situation right now.     

Again the things he wants to say and do flow through him, scripts and ideas for scenes. He’s always operated on that level, managing himself and other people into bites of interaction with distinctive beginnings and ends, editing them as he saw fit. Maintaining his character by feeding himself lines if necessary. Never had a problem with it until now, until he became a version of himself that didn’t fit into that mould any longer, until someone needed _him_ to react, not him as a puppet, until the people around him started to lose their adherence to the roles he’d so often assigned them.  

Once he merges with the main highway, Bow River meanders into view and parallel to the road, blue-green disappearing and reappearing from behind thickets. Josh can’t predict exactly when and where it will show, or the layout of its banks. It comes and goes as it pleases, and that’s all he can expect.

It doesn’t bother him much.

*

Sam wakes when they’re only a few more minutes from town, where layers of shale emerge from the hills and scattered lakes dapple the land. The mountains close in and the traffic thickens; before they know it, they reach the town proper and come back to the familiar sight of the avenue and its personal mountain.

“Was I asleep all that time?” Sam asks, holding back a yawn. Her shoulder pops as she rolls it.  

“Perfect corpse,” Josh replies. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Eugh. Probably smell like one.”

“Did you really go camping in the bush if you don’t come out the other end smelling like death? Let’s be real here.”

“Pfft. That’s true. But I also really, really want a shower.”

“You’ll get one. At the rec centre,” Josh says.

“ _Seriously_?” Sam lets out a groan and folds against her backpack.

“Don’t be a whiner. We already checked out of our place. What, are you gonna waltz back in there like a little dirtball and demand that they let you blow up their hydro bill?”

“Thinking about it.”

“I dare you.”

“Tempting, but…” Sam lays her head on her hands. “I’m going to have to pass.”

It doesn’t matter, really, because as it turns out Sam can stay in a goddamn _cubicle_ for an hour. Josh finishes in minutes and lounges in the lobby, draping himself on a wooden bench with their bags by his feet. Checking his phone, he sees messages from the gang, from his sisters. A few from Chris. He answers accordingly, spending a little more time on the last set.

He ends up falling asleep with his phone in hand, snorting to a start when Sam pokes his forehead.

It’s been a wild two weeks. Can you blame him?

If he’s going to be unconscious, now’s a better time than any.

*

> Josh: soooo lol
> 
> Hartstopper: !!!!!!!!!
> 
> Josh: just a few more hours
> 
> Hartstopper: yep!! did you Really have to go with a red eye
> 
>                    actually that was stupid of Course u guys are doing that
> 
>                    bc you guys are Weeeeird
> 
> Josh: don’t be jealous
> 
> Hartstopper: i’m not jealous. i’m just not sure how i’m supposed to wake up that early
> 
> Josh: you’ll figure it out i’m sure
> 
> Hartstopper: 10 alarms on my phone and i’m all set
> 
> Josh: put another one on there
> 
> Hartstopper: yeah?
> 
> Josh: nah bro i’m jk
> 
> Hartstopper: did it anyway >_>
> 
> Josh: it’s fine, you don’t have to be there u know
> 
>         like we can meet up at my house it’s cool
> 
> Hartstopper: i wanna be there tho
> 
> Josh: ok. maybe 12 alarms then lmao
> 
> Hartstopper: or maybe i should try not sleeping at all?
> 
> Josh: dude. no. you are not cut out for that lmfao
> 
> Hartstopper: i can do all-nighters!!
> 
> Josh: it takes u like a week to fix ur sleep schedule
> 
> Hartstopper: sighhhhh ok
> 
> Josh: do my sisters know ur coming? are you pooling w them?
> 
> Hartstopper: yeah, i’m going in my own car tho
> 
> Josh: my own chauffeur. sweet
> 
> Hartstopper: who said anything about picking you up?
> 
> Josh: wow
> 
> Hartstopper: uwu
> 
> Josh: ur gonna pull up just to look cool?
> 
> Hartstopper: soooo cool. cool as a cucumber
> 
> Josh: lmao
> 
> Hartstopper: ok but just to be real for a sec
> 
>                     it’s been too long bro
> 
>                     I Am Extremely Hype to See You
> 
> Josh: yeeeeah way too long. u nervous?
> 
> Hartstopper: that is Absolutely Ridiculous How Dare You Make That Assumption
> 
> Josh: it’s ok, u’ll be half asleep anyway
> 
> Hartstopper: not when i see you i won’t
> 
> Josh: you’ll be totally unconscious
> 
> Hartstopper: -_-
> 
> Josh: just like that
> 
> Hartstopper: omfg
> 
> Josh: don’t play, u know it’s true
> 
> Hartstopper: Nope
> 
> Josh: ok, well, u can sort that out on ur own time
> 
>         we’re having dinner and then heading off
> 
>         make sure you Sleep, nerd
> 
> Hartstopper: welp idk if that’s possible now
> 
>                     i guess i’ll see u in a few...hours?!
> 
> Josh: yup
> 
> Hartstopper: holy shit
> 
> Josh: yuuup
> 
>         see you in a few hours bro
> 
> Hartstopper: see you!!

*

With Sam confined to the window seat, Josh has the ability to slink into the aisle whenever he wants.

Turns out he wants to do this every fifteen minutes.

Having seen most of the movies the flight offers, wanting to have nothing to do with the remaining few, and insulted by the paltry horror selection, he doesn’t know how else to occupy his time.  

It’s just after 1am, the plane is rumble-humming along, and there’s three more hours to go.

Three more hours.  

The choice of a red eye flight had surprised zero of their friends. Of their group, they were the only two who could survive on as little as four or five hours of sleep _and_ call themselves functional afterwards. Josh hadn’t thought that he’d have any reason to pace around at 30 000 feet in the air. He should be as idle as Sam, curled in a ball with a scratchy pillow. Nope, not even close to that.

He remembers waiting  to text Chris back on the morning of the OC Fair. The same sensations plague him. Flitting heart, dry tongue. Restless legs. Walking around a dark plane surrounded by sleeping figures makes the feelings more potent. Exciting, in a way. Sort of. He licks his lips, gripping the top of his seat.

“What’s the matter?” comes a garbled voice from below.

Blinking, he looks down at Sam. “Nothing,” he replies.

She gestures for him to sit, and he heeds her request unceremoniously. “The worst thing that’s gonna happen is you falling on your face because you’re too sleep-deprived. Or saying complete gibberish.”

“You’re telling me this now. When I’m sleep-deprived.”

“I think you’re still good, as long as you sleep in the next...half hour or so. You’ve done worse and come out fine, haven’t you?”

“I need to do better than ‘fine’ for this, Sammy.”

“You will. But step one is…”

“Sleep.”

“Exactly.”

Josh sighs through his nose. Sam falls asleep again in seconds, folding back into a little package with a dishevelled bun on top. He pokes it a few times until she raises her hand half-heartedly to bat him away. Alright. Enough playing.

Fluffing up his pillow (or trying to at least), he closes his eyes, waits for an empty space to come along in his brain before hanging on to it, going deeper and deeper. Three hours comes and goes.

*

“Sam! Josh! Over here!”

They look ahead in time to see Hannah and Beth rushing to greet them, arms flailing. Josh gets tended to first, crushed in a double hug before Sam gets her turn.

“You guys don’t even look like you just got off a red eye,” Beth says, linking her arm with Sam’s and pressing against her. “What gives?”

“Power of the bloodmouth,” Josh says, which gets a snort out of Sam and perplexed looks from his sisters.

“Not even gonna ask,” Beth says.

“Not worth it,” Hannah adds.

Sam nods solemnly. “It really isn’t.”

The three of them laugh while Josh screws his mouth to one side. “Back to this again, I see,” he mutters.

“Gotta make up for the two weeks that you terrorized my girlfriend,” Beth says, giving Sam a peck on the head.

“And your reason?” Josh looks at Hannah.

“Gotta make up for the two weeks that you terrorized my BFF,” she replies, without skipping a beat.

He scoffs, crossing his arms. “Sam, are you hearing this? Is that what I did to you? Aren’t you going to defend my honour?”

She moves in closer to Beth, leaning her head on her shoulder.  

“Ouch,” Hannah says.

Beth smirks. “Guess that answers that question.”

Josh rolls his eyes. Then his heart bristles as he surveys the hall. “So,” he says. “Where’s Chris?”

Much of the crowd has dispersed, making the check of their surroundings an easy task to complete. Nope. Not here.

“Oh, don’t tell me he overslept…” Hannah groans.

Josh sighs into a smile, jamming his hands in his pockets.

Hannah collapses against Beth’s shoulder, rubbing her head there.

“Oh my God. Why am I not surprised?” Beth says, squeezing her temples.

“S’fine,” Josh says, shrugging.  

“Maybe we should all text him at the same time and see where he is?” Beth suggests. “Ugh. I totally forgot to text him when we got here.”

“I didn’t,” Hannah says, “but he also didn’t answer, and then I saw Josh and Sam so…”

“Let’s backtrack, too.” Sam slips into her backpack. “He could’ve just gotten a little held up.”

Josh nods, staving off a wave of anxiousness. “Sounds good to me.”

Just as soon as he moves around them and takes a few steps forward to lead the search, he freezes. Behind him he hears a gasp, a clipped squeak, and it’s over.

The linoleum floor stretches out far ahead of him like a long trail of snow, pure and smooth. He doesn’t want to disturb it and he wants to, and his heart turns circular and hot and his bag slides from his shoulder.

Chris stands just as still, hair a little unkempt as if he’d done it all up and then slept on it, eyes rounded and softening, softening, left hand fidgeting with the zipper of his hoodie.  

Josh moves forward first, conscious of no one around him as he encroaches on the quiet spot between them.  Chris copies him, and it should feel bizarre to approach someone like this, slow and measured, but he can’t bring himself to say anything or do anything else, not until they reach each other and put a little more force into their steps and even then the words barely leave him before Chris pulls him into a tight embrace. He can’t do more than try to hold him tighter.

“Hey,” Chris says, voice muffled against his shoulder.

Josh pulls away.

Looks at Chris’ hands, at his mouth, at his eyes.

And kisses him.

Soft, first, catching Chris off guard. The tiredness of his face thaws in an instant.

Then Josh tilts forward again, and they meet, more or less, in the middle. Press closer together, take each other in. Chris smells like sleep and like his bedroom and Josh tucks himself away in that space until sound returns to his ears.

“Hey,” he says.

“H-Hey,” Chris repeats, voice as slanted as his glasses. He touches at them absently, fails to fix them.

Josh takes them by the arms and adjusts them himself. Colour spills into Chris’ face, though he manages a smile as Josh’s hands slide down to his shoulders to give him a shake. “I didn’t break you, did I?”

“Ah, almost,” Chris replies. “I...I think I’m good. Functional. Fifty-one percent awake. ... _Wow_.”

“Least you know you’re not dreaming.”

“Yeah...I think?”

Josh drops his arms and swings them, looking at his feet and then again at Chris.

Chris doesn’t say anything, watching him just as closely. Only warmth in his eyes, and it’s terrible and it’s corny but he thinks of yesterday and swimming in the blueness of the lake, and he could—wants to— swim here, too.   

“Do you wanna—”

“Can we try—”

They both pause. Josh gestures for Chris to speak. It takes him a moment.

“Um. Matador,” Chris says. “Do you...wanna try again?” He pauses. “We’ll do more than talk, in case you were wondering.”

He jumps for the chance. “Smooth moves, Cochise. That’s how it’s done.”

Chris shrugs, trying to play it off. “You know what I mean…”

Josh waves it off. “I know what you mean and you took the words right out of my mouth. Let’s go.”

*

Sam leaves separately with Hannah and Beth in tow, the three of them shouting well wishes across the floor. Once they roam out of sight, Chris leads the way to his car through a different parking lot. The heat of the city falls upon them as they exit the hall, fuller than the clarity of Banff. While the sky is dark it’s not as encompassing, its shadows lifted by the suburban and city lights.

“We thought you got lost,” Josh says. “Or that you fell asleep somewhere.”

“Not gonna lie, it almost happened. The sleeping part.”

“I can tell,” Josh says, running his hand up the back of Chris’ head and ruffling his hair.  

Chris ducks as he plucks Josh’s hand off. “Ahem. As I was saying...the sleeping part almost happened. I _totally_ got lost.”

“Did you get Han’s text?”

“Yeah, but...” Chris scratches his chin. “I wanted to surprise everyone.”

“That still worked out.”

“Surprised the hell out of me, too. You like, appeared out of nowhere and I was just—”

“Temporarily knocked unconscious. See? S’just like I predicted.”

“Whatever, bro. Here, let me grab that.”

“Merci, monsieur,” Josh says, as Chris takes his backpack from him and carries it off towards the car.

Chris groans as he adjusts it in his arms. “God, what’s in here? Weren’t you supposed to come back with _less_ stuff?”

“Just half of the body that Sam and I are trying to get rid of. She’s got the other half. No biggie.”

“Oh, good.” Chris stows it away, prodding at it before closing the trunk. “I’ve always wanted to be an accomplice to murder.”

“Truly the best bonding activity one could hope for. Highly recommended.”

“I’ll bet. When’s our date coming…” Chris swallows, realizing his word choice. “...Up…?”

“...Whenever you’re free,” Josh mumbles.

The two of them lean against the car, close, closer. The parking lot is shadowy even with the intervals of lights along the walls. Distant doors clunk and echo around them, accompanied by footsteps, light chatter.

Josh starts slipping between the silence into a warm space. He shakes himself out of it; that seems to inspire Chris to do the same. “Ready?” he asks.

Chris nods, and they split apart to get in the car.

*

The drive up to the beach doesn’t take too long; the streets lay near empty for now, especially away from the city as they cruise parallel to the ocean. They both have the windows down, letting salty air filter inside as they talk about the last two weeks. While it goes against Josh’s expectation for the mixed fragrance of pine needles and worn wood and flowers, it smells like home. This is home. Observing the breeze course through Chris’ hair as he yawns and rubs his eyes strengthens the thought, and the fact that they’re like this, crammed into a dated car they’ve known for years and surrounded by memories, makes it almost unbearable. CDs from their high school days sit in front of the console, keychains Josh had brought back from family trips dangle from the mirror.  He sighs through his nose.

“What?” Chris asks.

“What?”

“Did I say something weird?”

“You’re always saying something weird.”

“Listen, just because you don’t get excited by the intricacies of rolling a Nat 20 when you’re…”

“See what I mean?”

“It’s not like you’re lacking in that department either. The weirdness department.”

“Having an appreciation for the cinematic arts isn’t weird.”

Chris’ mouth wrinkles in thought. “I dunno, bro. I think the fact that you refer to it as _the cinematic arts_ kind of seals the deal.”

“You are _so_ lucky you’re driving right now,” Josh says.

Chris sticks out his tongue. “Better luck next time.”

“Committing yourself to insulting me again. Classy.”

“I do pride myself on being a perfect gentleman.”

“I’m starting to see now why you don’t wake up before 11am. _Such_ a rowdy boy when you don’t get your beauty sleep.”

“Shush, you.”

“Wanna make me?”

A wide smile stretches across Chris’ face as he taps his hands on the steering wheel.

Josh places his elbow against the window and tilts his head into his hand. “Or I can wipe that smirk right off your face. How’s that sound?”

Chris smiles wider, almost matching the colour of the seam bursting along the horizon. He maintains his composure. Just barely. “Both. Both would be good.”

“I can hold up my side of the deal. Can you?” When Chris spares him a look, he tosses in a wink.

A splutter of disbelief. “ _Dude._ Seriously. I’m driving.”

“And you can stop any time.”

“I can…” The stripe of ocean beside them becomes a point of interest. Then it becomes Josh, and although Chris’ eyes don’t stay on him for long, the fondness in them is unmistakable. “But I think you deserve this first.”

Oh. He shifts in his seat, working out of his slouch. Words fail to form in his mouth until he licks his lips and averts his gaze, relaxes. Staring into dusty hills, he says, “So do you.”

*

Josh recounts bits and pieces from the trip as they exit the car and start their descent to the beach, the steep trail beginning with dry underbrush amid pockets of sedge grass and manzanitas. Bush lupines, a vivid yellow even within a muted dawn, offer them something of a lit path to follow alongside the sandstone cliffs.

Other than a few people already roaming down by the water, it’s just the two of them and morning air fresh with salt. The dusty blue sky awakens along its bottom edge as though it were a box being opened; spilling in brilliant from the east, orangey light fades in a gradient as it progresses over the beach and highlights the enormous rock formations over the sand.

The path down goes narrow at points. That explains why they bump against each other, fingertips close enough to connect. Josh takes the zipper stop of Chris’ hoodie in his hand and tugs on it every so often, only letting go when they reach the stairs.

Chris peers over the edge, gripping the iron railing. “Not even _one_ run-in with a bear? Did you guys really go camping?”

“Honestly, I was thinking about making up a story, but you know Sam would tear me down and say it was like, a chipmunk or something.”

“She totally would.”

“Still had a good time, though. It’s amazing out there.”

“Sam sent some pretty nice pics. Almost makes me wanna go out there, too.”

“No one said you can’t.”

Chris snorts. “We already went over this, bro. I wouldn’t stand a chance out there. I think walking around the lodge is more than enough for me.” As Josh sidles up next to him, he throws a sidelong glance. “No harm in starting small, though, right?”

“Greatness from small beginnings,” Josh says, wistful.

“Yeah, that’s...wait. You’re quoting from…” Chris laughs, nudging him with his shoulder. “Did a little digging into the _Uncharted_ lore, huh?”  

Josh does the same. “You infected me with your gross nerd germs.”

“Maybe you should’ve gotten the vaccine while you had the chance.”

“Maybe I’m fine not being immune.”

“Guess it’s all _downhill_ from here,” Chris says as he throws his hands out to display the stairs, a goofy grin on his face.

He walks down the stairs with a blank expression, much to Chris’ vocal delight. Footsteps follow him down the rusted steps.

“Dude. C’mon, that was _so_ good.”

“For my indigestion.”

“Tsk. _Rude_.”

“Nah, _this_ would be rude,” Josh says, and turns to flick Chris on the nose before going down the stairs as fast as he can.

The stairs rattle under their feet in a metallic staccato and their laughter echoes over the beach. Josh leaps from the third-last step onto the ground, landing low and using his hands to propel himself forward. He presses on as he hears stumbling behind him and a noise signalling renewed vigour, feet sinking into wet sand. Passing through an opening in one of the sandstone formations, he slips onto the opposite side of its outer arm and presses his back against it.

Unsure steps draw near.

“What the hell.” (He almost bursts out laughing at Chris’ confusion). “Where are you? Josh…?”

He yells and jumps out at the same time that Chris happens upon him, relishing the loud yelp he obtains. Feigning a getaway, he prevents his reflexes from encouraging him to sprint. A pair of hands cling to the hem of his shirt and pull him backwards and he falls into Chris’ chest. They clomp around together in a strange tango as they try to regain their balance, working out a plan in between their bouts of laughter. No amount of ‘I slowed down on purpose’ can convince Chris that his victory wasn’t well-earned and genuine.

“Fair and square,” he says, curling his fingers tighter in Josh’s shirt. “Just admit it, bro. It’ll only hurt a little.”

“Nuh-uh, no way,” Josh says.

“Come on. Just let me have this?”

“There’s no incentive for me to do this.”

“Sure there is.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Just look at me.” Chris pulls a goofy face and try as he might, Josh can’t get away.  

Giggling overtakes them now as they lumber along the sand, Josh leading the way with Chris’ hands still tangled in his shirt. The sand, smooth and reflective of the colours emerging in the sky, resembles a long and creamy spread of nacre. Studded with dark rocks, it’s a sight best enjoyed in silence. It comes to them, eventually, after a few elbows in the side are exchanged.

Together, they weave between the formations, step up onto low slabs of rock to hop off of them, duck into the coolness of sea caves where the water whooshes and echoes against the pock-marked ceilings. They explore like that for a while, the only noise they make being their hushed amusement whenever Chris tries to escape the incoming tide.

Chris follows him wherever he goes, and even when he wanders out of sight it still feels like they’re connected, tugging on each other somehow so that they end up orbiting around each other again.  

Soon they abandon their shoes and socks, leaving them by a column of rock, and stroll side-by-side down the beach. The tide ebbs and flows with cloudy breath, seagulls glide overhead.

Chris picks a dry spot close to the water for them to sit, plopping down and leaning on his hands. After pushing the sand around a little, feeling the particles between his toes, Josh sits, too.

“Oh God,” Chris says, frowning as he lies on his back. “I forgot about the sand.”

Though they share in a chuckle, the air has a different weight to it now. Dreamier, thicker as morning arrives. Josh feels his voice pull away like the tide, gazes down at Chris as he waits for it to return.   

Breaking over the horizon now, the sun throws brighter beams across the beach and infuses the ocean. Chris’ face glows gold and a touch pink from their antics (and maybe something else?). A hint of sleepiness remains in his eyes, made more apparent by the slight skew of his glasses. Not fair. Not fair at all.

“Hey,” Chris says, smiling.

“Hey,” Josh says.

“Is that gonna be our line now?”

“If it is, it’s all your fault.”

“Huh? That’s a weird way of saying it’s _your_ fault.”

Even though they’re falling into a familiar routine, their tones are softer. Almost cautious, as they exchange words and circle closer.

“What did I have to do with it?”

“What did you...really? Really, dude?”

“You said it first.”

“But then _you_ …”

“...came in clutch.”

Chris opens his mouth to protest, one brow raised. Shuts it, considers the statement with a quirked mouth.

He taps their feet together. “So, d’you know how freaking cute you looked at the airport?”

Chris closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh my God, stop. I looked like a gremlin. I felt like one.”

“Debatable.” Josh grabs one of the hoodie’s drawstrings, flicking it around.

“No, no debate. And no touchy.” Chris pushes his hand away.

“Seriously.”

“Bro.”

“I’m not gonna miss any more chances to tell you shit, okay?” His voice is quieter and harder than he’d like, but he can’t be bothered to modulate it, not now.

The tide rolls onto the shore, sending up spray against nearby rocks. Chris watches him, waits.  

“If everything went according to plan,” Josh says, “what were we going to do here?”

“When I asked you to go last time?”

“Yeah.”

Chris folds his hands over his stomach, turning his eyes towards the sky. “Um, thought we would hang out a bit. Figure things out. I had snacks ready and stuff.” He observes Josh closely. “You’re not gonna apologize again, are you?”

Josh shrugs with one shoulder.

“Hey.” Chris reaches one hand out to poke his wrist. “I forbid you from feeling bad about this any longer. There’ll be like, fines to pay.”

“You’d probably like that.”

“Yeah, a little, but that’s beside the point. The point is: what’s the point of… How many times did I say ‘point’?”

Josh tilts his head. “Not gonna win awards with that speech any time soon.”

Chris taps Josh’s side with the back of his hand. “As I was _saying_...you gotta put it behind you, dude.”

He nods.

“You can worry yourself to hell and back about it or just keep going. Believe me, it’s really easy to do the first thing, but the second one’s better, right?”

“...Yeah,” he mumbles. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Fancy that, huh?” Chris shuffles up next to him so that their legs press together.

“Absolutely unprecedented.”

“All those hours at the library have _finally_ paid off.”

“Took you long enough.”

“I know, I know. Go easy on me.”

“Alright,” Josh says, pausing before he goes ahead and adds, “since I like you.”

Their feet knock together. “...Really? I like you, too. What a coincidence.”

Heat flecks his cheeks, he spots red in Chris’ ears. There they go again. He doesn’t know how many times they can ogle each other and grin and ogle each other while grinning. It’s as distressing as it is invigorating.

“So, at the fair…”

He blinks out of his reverie, earning a snicker from Chris.

“You thought you were being so sneaky, huh? Asking me if I was scared on the ferris wheel?”

Josh clicks his tongue, running a hand through his hair. “I only had a few hours to come up with something, okay? Besides, you just ate it right up.”

“I felt sorry for you.”

“That is so not what your face said.”

“Maybe I’m a better actor than you think. Ever think about that?”

“Gonna be honest here: no.”

Chris smacks a hand over his heart. “That. That is so mean.”

“We can give you a second chance. How would you like to rewrite the scene?”

“You’re the movie guy. You can do it.”

“Okay.” Josh allows himself some time to contemplate the question. “Your bit can stay. Your response was a romcom genre mainstay. Cheesy and obvious.”

“Hey…”

“Relax, bro. It was perfect.”

“Okay,” Chris says. Now he looks cheeky. “How would _you_ know so much about ‘romcom mainstays?’”

Josh lifts a brow at him, as if it weren’t entirely his fault that he had even a modicum of knowledge. “S’not like it was of my own volition or anything.”

“Pfft. Okay, jerk. What about you?”

“Hm…”

“You were good, too.”

“It was...missing something.”

“Something like what?”

Josh clicks his tongue. “You know what it was.”

“I’m not good with movies.” Chris says. “...Not like you.”

“You saying I should show you what I mean, Cochise?”

Chris nods vacantly three or four times before he snaps out of it. “Uh, yeah. _Yes_. Yes. You should.”

“Alright.” He lifts his hand, squeezing it into a fist, spreading it open. And...one more time.

“What are you doing?”

“Rehearsal.”

“It looks like you’re rehearsing to _Mortal Kombat_ me to death.”

“Bro.”

“Sorry, sorry. I can’t help it!”

“Alright, you’re off the hook for now. I got this.” Josh revels in a pause.

The anticipation in Chris’ face is tangible, bright and radiating.

“So...it looks like you need a hand.”

Chris squints. It takes a second before he gets it; when he does, a smile appears on his face. Lopsided, gentle. “Yeah, I do.”

Josh snorts as he looks at the ocean, at its waves scalloped with sunlight.  “Really?”

“Really.”

Reaching out his right hand, he finds Chris’ left resting over his stomach for him to take, fingers lifting. Fitting them together, he relishes the sensations he’d had to imagine for the last two weeks: the plush weight of a palm resting over his own, the press of fingertips into the side of his hand, solid knuckles underneath the sweep of his thumb. When he applies pressure, Chris returns the gesture. He notices how slow Chris is breathing, barely perceptible in the movement of his chest. It mellows him out, too, brings him to a place beneath the waves. As the tide rolls in, he pictures it blanketing over them foamy and soft.  

For a long, long while he’d had an indecisive relationship with the truth, divided between the scripts that had served him and the way things had diverged, challenged the roles he’d assumed were immutable. As much as he wanted to explore beyond the lines, the precariousness of the ideas there gave the whole thing a sense of unreality stronger than he could handle. Couldn’t be true, couldn’t possibly be real. Overactive imagination, foolish misunderstanding.

He pulls Chris upright, and just a couple weeks ago that would have been sufficient, the screen would have dissolved to black, the credits would have drifted onto the screen.

With his free hand he grabs Chris’ hoodie and angles him, pulls him closer; Chris’ hand touches at the hem of his shirt, at his side. They’re centimetres apart, sharing breath, noses nearly touching, eyes flicking towards each other’s mouths.  

Not yet.

Josh tilts his head and puts his lips to a spot on Chris’ neck just behind his ear, breathing hot there before he pulls back. “Your turn,” he says.

Chris grins, small and shy and it’s stupid adorable with the sun rising over his expression. He moves in to peck the angle of Josh’s jawline.

Heart blooming large underneath his ribs, Josh chooses the corner of Chris’ lips.

Chris chooses for him the corner opposite.

For a long, long while, he’d had an indecisive relationship with the truth. No more, none of that.

What’s true for him now is that they’re here and beyond remembering the past, that the sun is honey against him, that the air between them is as electric as it is sleepy and soft.

That Chris’ hands are warm on his, and so are his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow. we made it, you guys! i very much hope you enjoyed this final chapter, and, really, the entire ride. it took a while to get here and it was a lot of fun, but it's time to call it a wrap! 
> 
> thank you so much for joining me and taking the time to read my fic!! o/ until next time!


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